I Warned You
by TheBatKid
Summary: Reaver receives a strange message, and finds himself forced on yet another quest. How will he react to being part of a team again? And how will he deal with this handsome stranger? Especially when he resists all charm... (Possible Reaver/OC)
1. Invites

I Warned You

Reaver leaned back in his home, taking a large gulp of wine from his shining silver goblet. His feet propped up against the fireplace and his hair in an untamed mess, there was nothing the skilled hero was more thankful for than a peaceful evening to himself. After the Lucien incident, coupled with the near destruction of Bloodstone, didn't he at least deserve one pamper day? It wasn't too much to ask for.

Since the madman died Albion had become a stilled beast. Gossip, alcoholism, drug addictions and beggars seemed to disappear after his 'friend' Sparrow took the throne; Reaver missed these things more than he missed the tropical world of Samarkand and its inhibited residents. Nothing was interesting anymore, nothing was ripe for the picking, most notably the women and men of Bloodstone seemed somehow less enthusiastic about his wild parties. Surely no one was able to throw a more enjoyable bash than Reaver? He was starting to think that someone must have been stealing his thunder. In truth the townsfolk were simply becoming more used to a wholesome entertainment base – things like orgies and wild nights were no longer flavour of the month, even sinister, some might've said. What could he do but sit back and let the world around him forget his historical do's? He could throw the best one that had ever been thrown; all he needed were some people to come to it.

There was a knock at the door. For a moment he thought about leaving it, with a hope that whoever it was would come back another day, although he knew he could be wasting an opportunity for some fun. The crackling of a roaring fire and delicious alcohol was great and all, but what was a night without some interesting people? He wasn't anti-social! A host must always be present! So, dropping his goblet on the floor, he got up and quickly hid his messy hair under a suitably ostentations hat. The wine stained his imported carpet however he was far more interested at the knock, and who had the courage to disturb him without sending word first. Though he couldn't have said he would not shoot who interrupted his peaceful rest.

Before he could open it, another frantic knock sounded. His hand flinched off of the cool sleek wood and for a moment he simply enjoyed the sound of another's fear, like music to his ancient ears. It was even joined eventually by an ensemble of, "Reaver! Reaver! There's a message for you! It's signed and everything! Please don't shoot me for disturbing your night – the guard said he'd kill me if you didn't get it!"

Hm, guard? There wasn't a guard in Bloodstone for miles, albeit closer now since Westcliff developed into a pussy-town. What could this madman be raving about? Maybe he had been fooled by a man in disguise; that was more possible as people around this place were dumb as cabbage heads.

"Come, come, my dear boy," the eccentric hero said whilst swinging his door open, "Don't you know to wait after knocking? For all you know I could have been making myself decent."

It was a young town boy. Reaver could've been convinced by his deep voice and hardened face that he was truly a man of thirty, if he hadn't heard about his promiscuous teenage deeds with a maiden not long ago. The hero tried to hide a hint of disappointment on his face, why were all the people who came to him children these days? He didn't deal with the inexperienced, the virginal – he dealt with people who could handle themselves. People like Sparrow.

"Oh, s-sorry sir," the boy's cheeks flushed a bright scarlet whilst he shivered in the cold. In his soft plump hands lay a snow white letter, probably written in black ink and curly handwriting, and Reaver's interests faltered slightly. Another one? How tedious.

"This won't do," he sighed, "This won't do at all. If that's yet another invite to yet another wedding, burn it and I'll give you five gold pieces. I've become so tediously involved with those letters."

"I would sir, but I can't read."

"Well then, my boy, you're no use to me," before the boy could even bat an eyelash, he was lying on the ground with a pool of blood forming all around him. It glinted in the silvery moonlight whilst the hero took up the now-stained letter and went back into his sitting room. He noticed the wine stain and wrinkled his nose, reminding himself to find someone to get it out as he sat down and peered at his new post. There was a single red wax seal, imprinted with an icon he had never seen before, but nothing else that he could really go on.

_Strange, _he thought whilst he did this, _whoever was foolish enough to send this has neglected to leave a name. That is very inconsiderate – does it occur to them I might want to shoot them? Maybe the contents shall point me in the right direction._

His hands almost trembled when he sliced the top with his jewel-encrusted letter opener. The gems glittered in the light of his roaring fire but he failed to appreciate their beauty as his curiousity peeked. Inside, the letter read quite clearly;

_Bowerstone Castle. Thursday Morning._

What was the need for such a large envelope? The red wax seal was a bit of an overkill for such a menial, pointless little message, one that Reaver couldn't tell was real or not. Since when did Bowerstone have a castle? Wasn't that Fairfax? How long had he been in Samarkand? Time really did fly when he was having fun...

His genius mind started to work on what it could be. Surely the castle would be where Sparrow lived, and the last place he was located in was Fairfax Castle; when would people learn that they couldn't just rename things like that? It must've been run past the hero of Skill before...however he couldn't deny he was out of sorts lately with the wholesomeness of Bloodstone. A holiday would do him good.

"Whilst I still do not think a guard sent you," he said to the letter, "I am truly baffled by these mysterious instructions. This better be worth my time, or your sender will find a very cosy bed in a ditch."


	2. Strange Arrival

Fog hovered over the road towards Bowerstone. It was a boring journey for Reaver, even after he stopped near a small whorehouse for some leisure time, and he resorted to toying with his carriage driver's self-worth whilst they rumbled down the narrow roads. The servant, however, was used to his master's insults and tried his best to ignore them, concentrating on the cobbled stone paths as the sun started to break over a baby pink horizon. They must have been nearing the castle now.

Reaver liked to watch the sunrise. It was humbling sometimes, just to watch a fiery orb slowly rake over the sky, although he often found he was too busy to watch it. Sleeping usually got in the way – what was a man to do when the call for rest echoed in his ears? Especially when the person he slept with lost their appeal.

"Will you hurry up man?" He barked, "I don't think you understand what happens to people who disappoint me. If you wish to become more acquainted to them, I could throw you in the bottom of the sea as well!"

The servant rolled his eyes before cracking the reigns. Big black stallions whinnied once and started up a faster gallop through the quiet streets, their eyes directed in front of them with the help of eye-guards. Their eccentric owner was determined to show up in style; those horses were the best money could buy, not to mention the most magnificent he had seen in years. Anyone who saw the black carriage, embroidered with the golden "R"" and pulled by those apocalyptic however gorgeous steeds, knew that Reaver was on the road. It was like the call of battle, telling them all to scatter before they were seen in the eyes of the Warlord.

"We will be arrivin' soon Reava. King Sparra will be somewhere in the throne room – do ya want me to make someone take ya coat?"

His coachman's farmer-like accent grated upon the hero's nerves although he didn't come up with a condescending quip. The castle's shadow cast itself down on the path now, and he didn't feel like making any sort of sounds until he found out why he was here. Who was foolish enough to send for him? Even Sparrow couldn't have been that stupid.

"Just don't get in my way," he sighed as he made some last minute adjustments to his hair and collected his dress cane, "Keep the horse's quiet, too. The last man I had on the job ended up meeting a very gruesome end, and I don't want to have another murder investigation over my head."

Getting out of his cart, he saw the beautiful garden of Fairfax heaving with all sorts of lovely people. They wore clashing colours of jade, violet and pink, but he was more interested in the strange cluster of men standing at the very top of the concrete steps. Attires of blue jackets and black trousers weren't exactly the fashion in Albion, nor any other land he had ventured in all his years; however these men seemed to be perfectly comfortable wearing them. Almost...proud.

He slowly walked towards them with a manufactured smile and one hand placed on his gun trigger. Like a tiger spying its prey he watched each of their movements as he reached the massive fine-wood entrance, and noticed how they started to mutter at his arrival.

Usually, he was met with loud cheers and thunderous rounds of applause, but these people seemed more interested in whispering. He was used to being noticed – this was something different though. Had they been expecting him?

"You, boy," he pointed towards a scrappy young urchin on the ground, "Go to your king and tell him of my arrival. If you please me, I might be convinced to part with a large bag of gold."

Money was no problem to him, so he did not see how it was so appealing to others. The urchin seemed to drop his pride almost immediately before darting past the well-dressed hero, causing him to smirk as he thought about the possibilities. Gold could get him prostitutes, servants...what else was he missing? There must have been something else he could get...

"Your Highness, Lord Reava turned up!"

It was a mediocre announcement however Reaver felt he must pay for the service. He showed his displeasure by only giving him a few glittering coins, feeling infuriated when the urchin ran off with a smile on his dirty little face.

The place seemed to have been fixed up in recent years. When the immortal was last standing in Fairfax he remembered that the walls were in need of repair, and the creaky windows called out desperately for re-fitting; now it seemed his 'friend' had fully fixed these little problems with the help of his massive gold-pile. Purple banners flowed from the top of the stone columns, a monument to pointless monarchy, whilst the glowing golden throne was placed directly below a large stained glass window. What beauty! What transformation! What was Reaver here for? The man wiped his pale face with a napkin before strolling up to the throne. His friend sat happily on top like a muscular parakeet.

"Good morning, Sparrow! My, my – it seems that the old castle has seen worse times than in your ownership. I cannot remember the last time I did not vomit at its sight," despite the jab, he was truly impressed. Turning a lump of clay like the castle was a masterful deed.

"Do you not remember that our friend is mute?" The haunting familiar voice drifted from the corner as if it was a beacon of distress. Reaver did not want to turn in case his vision confirmed his worse fears; however he knew that insufferable wizard Garth was standing there. Why did he not stay in Samarkand? Last time they saw each other, he seemed content with the boring intellectuals and mountains of books.

"Ah, cool it Garth – this is Reaver we're talking about. Far as I remember, he didn't exactly care who was who."

Hammer as well? Was the Shadow Court angry at him? This seemed more like torture than a kind little reunion, or a gathering from a mysterious message. He narrowed his eyes at them before turning back to Sparrow.

"Of course I remembered. This is not quite what I had in mind for my Thursday morning, but I digress; why did you call for my presence Sparrow? Or is it King now?"

The King hardly fit the stereotype. Still equipped with his hardened, scar-ridden face and sporting his master cutlass, he looked like the same adventurer the immortal met years ago.

"I am afraid that his Highness didn't call for your presence, Mr. Reaver," a spritely maiden whispered as she tottered on her way. If it was any normal day, he would flash a smile and invite her back to Bloodstone although he found many of these Bowerstone types did not enjoy what he planned during the trip. Some did not complain though...

"Well, if you didn't send that message, who did?!" His voice was so irritable that almost all the servants dotting the grand hall scattered in fear.

Was it possible they were all there for no reason? It seemed no one would send such pointless little instructions for a harmless prank, one they would not even get to see, so it must have been something important. But if the King did not know, who would?

"This must be the thief."

Reaver turned, brushing back a wild brown lock, and stared at the person that had just spoken. His gun-finger itched to find its target...however he found himself pleasantly surprised when his eyes met the stranger.

It was a slightly tanned man, blessed with piercing emerald eyes and sporting neatly cut black hair on top of his head. He wore exactly the same attire as the men clustered outside although with more pride, and he was at least six foot in height. His eyes showed wisdom beyond his years, shimmering with knowledge that only came from battling many obstacles and coming out on top every time. Reaver gave him a smile.

"I prefer, more an apprehender of goods," he said whilst tapping his cane on the floor, "And who might you be?"

"Names can wait for another day. Listen to me, all of you – we need the heroes again."


	3. Say my Name

The heroes sat on purple chairs, mystified at what they had just been told. As the stranger drank a large glass of water he knew what they were thinking, what they were feeling, but he did not care for it very much. He did not need their approval – he simply needed their agreement to help.

"How can you be so sure about this?" Garth asked whilst toying with a shiny gold coin, "How can you stand there and be so sure, when you've never even seen it? I don't think you understand the gravity of what you, or Theresa, are asking of us."

The man placed his now-empty glass down before wiping a few droplets from his face. He was used to these types of questions, especially from people he never met, but there was nothing he could lie about to them. Theresa taught him to have the utmost respect for any of the heroes.

"I have not seen it, you are correct. I have not seen the creature I talk about, nor have I had the displeasure of hearing its words; it is your blind friend that tells me about it. Crawler is its name, so she tells me, and it is vying for your precious little Albion."

He was not interested in the region although he felt he needed to protect it. There were probably people out there that redeemed the disgusting actions he saw on his journey, and hopefully those people would enjoy the knowledge that their life was extended because of his actions. Reaver sat closest to him, staring past his slightly hanging fringe and remaining strangely quiet during the talk. It was beginning to make the stranger feel uncomfortable; however he did not say anything.

"Crawler sounds more like a name for a crab," Hammer said before setting her weapon down on the ground. She was a larger lady perhaps, plump and throbbing with all manner of muscles, but the man noticed she had a soft beautiful face. Feminine features lined her structure which brought forth her more...womanly splendour.

"True," he replied, "I doubt the name has anything to do with its evilness though. There are things that have lovely names – like Hannah – but are simply masks for awesome power." His smile seemed to warm the room although it soon disappeared again. Reaver noticed he was equipped with a similar master cutlass to Sparrow's, and admired when the stranger stroked its well-polished handle. He seemed in tuned with it somehow...like it was a living part of him.

Suddenly, he outstretched his hand towards the King with a glowing ambition in his eyes. The heroes did not know whether he was challenging him or simply offering his hand in friendship, although Sparrow seemed fairly certain of his intentions. With a nod towards his guards the man slipped his hand into the strangers and gave it a firm shake.

Reaver narrowed his eyes at them. He did not like this, being forced into yet another adventure that he did not sign up for; it seemed he did not have a choice in the matter after his 'friend' made the deal. How inconsiderate!

"Hold on there, I don't believe that you asked my opinion on this," he pointed out whilst twirling his cane in the air and standing up, "Maybe I do not want to go charging into a cesspit on the other side of the world? Did you ever consider that?"

Sparrow rolled his dark brown eyes before turning back to the well-dressed man. No one was really surprised Reaver was making a big thing out of nothing because he had done it before; however this did not mean it was any less infuriating. When the world hung in the balance everyone should have been willing to fight for its life.

"Come on man, open your eyes!" Garth growled. The immortal sighed before completely ignoring him, instead turning his attention to the man standing beside the new King. He saw a spark in his eyes, something familiar – it almost made him forget about the subject at hand when he gazed into them.

"You have not even given us your name. I might be a 'thief', but at least when I swindle people they have my real identity."

"Hm, and I suppose that your real identity limits to just a name?" The retort was unexpected; Reaver took a moment to register what he said, "I have given you trustworthy information, and I will offer my own services to search for this Crawler if you wish for them. However, I do not aid people that call me a liar."

"I hate to say it, but Reaver's right here Sparrow. How can we be sure that he won't stab us in the back? We don't know anything about him, not his name or where he comes from, he just mentioned he knew Theresa," Hammer felt guilty admitting her own doubts. The stranger seemed honourable and certainly made her feel special by saying she had a lovely name, although that did not stop the thoughts niggling away at her. He seemed more to be more forgiving towards her though when he gave her a respectable nod and turned to the King.

Sparrow looked down at his friends. These were big decisions for him to make, especially with the knowledge of Crawler; he had yet to make a life-altering choice since he took over the throne. Most of the things he was presented with were petty disputes over farmland. How would the world change if he decided upon the wrong thing?

"I will grant you the right to know my name, though my knowledge of your friend Theresa shall remain mine to know," Reaver flashed an irritated look towards the blue-tunic wearing man. He did not like not knowing something about someone, about anyone, but it seemed he was sticking to his guns about this particular rule. It was...admirable. And caused the immortal to wonder so much more about him.

Finally, Sparrow nodded towards him as a smile stretched on his face. His large golden crown flopped carelessly on his head and, like it was a common piece of copper, he threw at the wall. The adventurer hated all the fancy jewellery and the constant supervision he was given since his coronation – what new things could he find if there were always things going on in the castle? This journey was exactly what he needed.

"Good."

The heroes waited for a while, staring at the man expectantly, and acted shocked when he simply strode away towards the door. Garth shot a ball of energy to turn him back although he barely flinched.

"You forgot to tell us your name," he mentioned whilst glaring at the back of his neatly cropped hair. He ran a hand through it before calling over his shoulder.

"I am called Deprivation."

And with that, he exited out of the door and made a beeline straight for the courtyard's garden. The team stared after him for a minute, wondering what kind of name that was, before Sparrow coughed loudly and clutched at his weapon. He was anxious to go out and see the new lands Deprivation spoke about.

"Odd fellow, isn't he?" Garth said.

"That's a bit of an understatement, don't you think?" Hammer's voice was lined with wonderment. It had been a while since she met someone so distinguished and yet, so mysterious.

"I still do not trust him," Reaver's voice was also etched with something however it was not as easy to detect, "But I suppose since our 'leader' has told us to go, I will head back home and pack some things for the trip. I hope there will be some entertainment planned! If not, I can bring my own..."

He smiled at the maidens dusting around the grand hall.


	4. Immortal

"Excuse me, how long did you say we're going to be sailing for?"

"To reach the lands I speak of, this time will seem all but wasted."

"Do not insult my intelligence, Deprivation. How long did you say we will be on sea?"

The stranger sighed before replying in a heavy voice, "Three months, thief." It seemed like such a trivial amount of time for him and he did not fully understand what the problem was, although Reaver was certain it existed by the fuss he was causing. A weary voice in the corner of the room told them both to be silent but the immortal was never one to follow orders.

"Three months?! Three months?! I've killed men for less!" He said in a slightly raised voice, "Do you not understand how much business I have to attend to around Albion? I cannot simply go gallivanting off into the sunset with you people!"

In truth, Reaver did not have much to do these days. Despite owning much of the land's business and being solely responsible for many of the untimely deaths, he found his days mostly filled with drinking and prostitutes rather than anything productive. But why would he want to change that?

"I do not mean to offend, however this quest is far more important than your own affairs," Deprivation said as he polished his sword, "I assure you on my forefather's honour that you will be satisfied with what you get out of it."

As if the hero disappeared after his words, he stood up and began to move towards the empty throne. Two days had passed since his arrival, which was now announced to the common folk as the King would be absent, and the people around him were nothing if not hospitable. They made up rooms for him and his friends even though they did not know of his intentions with their Hero, and were eager to see approval lining his tanned face whenever they did anything. It amused Deprivation immensely.

Reaver's pale face was turning a faint shade of red whilst the stranger walked away. Garth was trying to sleep on a chair in the corner although he could see his 'companion's' infuriated look and, with much debate in his mind, started to gather up his strength in an attempt to calm him down.

"No one turns their backs on Reaver!" He shouted before the mage could even stand up. With lightning quick speed he clutched his Dragonstomper .48 and aimed it straight for Deprivation's head, a smile stretching on his thin lips when he pinpointed the kill-shot. The stranger halted. Garth shouted. Suddenly, everything went silent.

It was as if a cloud of tension descended on the throne room. The hero of Skill cocked his gun more slowly than he would normally and his 'friend' could not force himself to speak, but the well-dressed man seemed to be used to these types of situations. He turned on his heels with an un-amused look playing on his face.

"Stay your weapon Hero," he said whilst gesturing for calm, "I do not wish to fight you. These circumstances are anything but ordinary and I understand your confusion –my only intention is to ensure your survival."

His words were laced with a certain emotion, something that caused Reaver to first become calmer and then infuriated him even more. Just as his weapon started to lower he brought it back up to the right position and aimed it straight for a headshot, one eye shut to ensure it would kill.

A click sounded in the silence. The mage sprung forward when a sudden strength layered in his tired, old bones and attempted to slap the gun away, although with one quick movement from Reaver he found himself cast to the side like a common piece of rubbish. Deprivation stared at him for a moment...and smiled.

He outstretched his arms, palm of his hands faced towards the grey stone ceiling, before looking straight into the immortal's eyes and puffing his chest out. It was as if he was offering himself.

"What are you doing, you madman? He'll kill you!" Garth shouted whilst trying to collect himself, "He has no morals!"

Reaver blocked out any other noises. It was a shame; he thought that the stranger was quite the rare specimen to encounter. Strong, distinguished, mysterious – he was everything that made up an interesting conversation, or at least slightly amusing pillow talk.

Before any other move could be made, there was a slight creek behind him. His hyper sensitive hearing caused him to turn and surprise the sneaking man. A single gunshot sounded, probably for evidence of his ruthlessness, and the blue-tunic wearing friend collapsed to the ground like a sack of grain. Deprivation dropped his hands with a frown descending on his handsome features.

"Too bad for your little friend here," Reaver laughed whilst putting his gun away, "I would have enjoyed to at least torture him for a while. Oh well, you have the whole body to bury – not many can say that after crossing me."

It was as if the immortal was not even talking. Deprivation moved closer towards his dead friend, staring down at his perfectly still body, and fell to his knees with a single quiver on his lip. Reaver felt curiousity prick his skin whilst Garth stared from his resting place.

"My brother, my friend," the stranger said in his deep voice, "My fighter and warrior's spirit; shall we ever meet in a sacred land, far from this world that we know? That knowledge still remains hidden to me, and to you as well. Awaken now – breath the air that I breathe, as death has not taken your soul today."

Silence descended again. The silvery glow of the moon flooded in from the arched windows and caressed the two men's bodies lightly, highlighting their features in a near angel like manner. The fresh hole in Deprivation's head seemed to remain entirely real.

Then Reaver noticed it. A burning outline around the wound, as if it was the end of a cigarette, and a faint gasp dropped from the handsome stranger's lips like he was in sudden pain. He clutched his friend's hand whilst shaking furiously. What was happening? They looked like they were having a seizure together! The hero of Skill stepped backwards as he watched.

"Brother, friend, fighter and warrior's spirit," Deprivation kept whispering, "Brother, friend, fighter and warrior's spirit."

Suddenly, the dead man breathed out. His dull grey eyes shot open, glittering with a seemingly new wisdom before he looked up at the man clutching his hand. Giving in a squeeze in return, he got up and started to dust himself off.

"How did you manage too-"

"You cannot kill us Reaver. In time, you'll understand why. Now please, gather some things you require for the journey – I will order my men to take them onto the ship in three day's time."

They exited through the large wooden door after the parting words. The immortal stared at it, wondering for a moment if he should follow and try to challenge them again, although he realised that there was no point in doing it. It seemed what he thought would kill the stranger had only solidified his curiousity in him, and he smiled when he thought how he was going to learn the secrets. Garth glared at him as the pain ripped through his ribcage.

"You didn't need to throw me aside," he pointed out before a cough racked his body.

"Just be glad I have not shot you," Reaver replied with a smile.


	5. Men Like You

The next morning was filled with chatter from the servants. Deprivation sat in the dining hall, surrounded by his fellow mystery men and reading great dusty tomes written for all sorts of topics. There was no book that contained less than several hundred pages and, as each one was read and placed back on the bookshelf, the common folk around them began to wonder if they were secretly scholars. But what sort of scholar could bend death to their whim? Garth was excitedly telling the story to his friends for the better part of breakfast that morning.

"You should have seen Reaver's face, my friends," he chuckled whilst breaking apart some bread, "It was picture-perfect. When that man rose again, even I could scarcely believe it, and I can only imagine what was going through that madman's head! Especially since he is such an expert shot."

Hammer listened to the story with interest although she was more concerned about the men on the parallel table. They were not even touching their food as they scanned through each book and started to pile them back in their rightful places, high up on the surrounding shelves. Even Deprivation's handsome features were lined with concentration whilst he read yet another tome about Balverine potions. What were they searching for, locked away in those black and white worlds?

Reaver did not join them that morning. Far too concerned with his youthful appearance, he was venturing in Bowerstone market to find a suitable sculptor or painter who could capture his essence perfectly. His mind was also stuck on the events of the previous night and, since he could tell the mage was having a wonderful time with it, he did not want to be present for a boring breakfast conversation.

"Deprivation!" Hammer suddenly shouted, making everyone jump, "What are you all reading for? Aren't you hungry at all?"

Nodding to his friends quickly, the stranger rose from his place and strode over to the three heroes. His tanned face lit up with a half-hearted smile before he opened his mouth to speak.

"My men and I are trying to learn more about Albion," he explained in his deep voice, "We rarely venture so far from our own lands and it provides a unique opportunity for us. If you want us to stop, however, we will gladly do as your orders wish." Like he was addressing his master rather than his equals, he put his left hand on the right shoulder and his right on the left before taking a quick bow towards them. What the trio did not know was that he was accustomed to this sort of gesture, often doing it towards his own men rather than people he knew nothing about. It may have been a sign of respect – it was not a sign he thought they were better than him.

"Bloody Hell, don't see that very often," she muttered as he moved back to his place. Garth raised his eyebrows at her.

"What do you mean?"

"He's so calm about everything. It's really eerie. I mean, like you said; he didn't even flinch when Reaver pulled a gun on him, and he doesn't get angry at the servants talking about him or his friends there. He's got the patience of a saint."

Using that word brought back harsh memories for her. The beloved Abbot that was ripped from her life a few years ago flooded back into her mind, talking in his wizened voice as he taught her the ways of the Light, and she fought to choke back tears whilst washing her sorrows down with ale. Theresa once said to her revenge would make the pain go away.

It was hard to say that she was wrong.

"I am sure he has a trigger switch, just as we do Hammer," Garth sighed, "What would a man be without them?"

"That's my point! What kind of man can bring back his friend _from the dead?" _Her voice turned to a whisper when she noticed the men looking up at her, "What man can talk to Theresa? She's in the Spire now – he must have something to do with that! What if he's one of Lucien's old men?!"

The hero was slightly guilty about accusing him. She liked Deprivation; the sense of calm he brought in desperate times was almost refreshing, however he brought the questions upon himself. If he would just say where he was from, and why he was with them now, then that would be the end of it.

Suddenly, the large wooden doors broke open with a loud crash. Deprivation and his team immediately sprung towards it, swords unsheathed as they prepared for an attack, although it was simply Reaver standing there with a large grin on his face. He looked at the men before speaking.

"Now, now," he said as he brushed his coat down, "No need for weapons. I may like things a little more on the rough side, but this is not what I had in mind."

Deprivation glared at him with his emerald eyes. Signalling at his men, they began to trek back towards the table, however their gazes never left the well-dressed hero facing their friend. He smiled at him.

"I assumed you were gathering supplies for the trip."

"A job for the common slave, my dear man, not for Reaver."

"I would require that your absence is notified with either me or my men."

"And why would I do that? For my compliance, I require just a slight payment, a small thing that will benefit me. I'm sure a man of your...stature can find some way to keep me interested..."

The stranger rolled his eyes before moving back to his place, at the head of the table. Reaver smiled at him past his hanging fringe as he took a seat beside his 'friend's'.

"Oh joy, look who has graced the breakfast table," Garth said sarcastically whilst biting into his bread, "And where _were _you this morning?"

The immortal whirled his dress cane in the air as he replied, "Ah, mage – if I told you then you would know the answer, and I understand how much you enjoy working things out. What kind of man would I be to take that joy?"

Hammer sighed. It was going to be a long three months.


	6. We Will Work

Thick cloud covered the sky as the heroes admired their vessel. Children ran around the docks as Deprivation's men loaded on Reaver's belongings, clapping and cheering at the sight of their King although they were more interested in the mystery team. They watched whilst the blue-tunic men shifted a wooden double bed frame through the tiny doors and attempted to dismantle the massive wardrobes, that Reaver insisted were 'crucial to his survival'. Even their leader raised his eyebrows at their necessity but he ordered them to do as they were told, so they obliged like simple labourers.

"This? This is supposed to pass for a ship?" the hero asked when he stepped out of his carriage, "No no, this won't do. I simply cannot live without decent accommodation, let alone a bit of vibrancy!"

His companions rolled their eyes. They knew that he would not be happy about this, and even less so when he saw the interior, although Garth was secretly looking forward to the immortal's reaction. What would be better than to see a high-flying bird like Reaver brought down to earth with a thud?

"Calm down; it's not that bad. I mean, we could be sailing in a tiny little thing like that," Hammer pointed to a carcass of a boat, abandoned and slowly rotting away on the pebbly shore. Her 'friend' could barely look at it without retching, let alone think about sailing inside its mildew covered hull.

"Calm down? My dear girl, I am the calmest of men you will ever meet," he replied with a devilish grin, "If anything, I am only fretting for your sake. A large lady like yourself – I wonder how long it will take for the ship to sink?"

At that moment, Reaver was lucky for Deprivation's intervention. Hammer's eyes narrowed at the well-dressed hero and she slowly released her trusty weapon, however she quietly swore she would make him pay for that comment at a later date. Instead she turned to the handsome stranger and flashed him a warm smile, which caused the immortal to narrow his own eyes whilst twirling his dress cane.

"Are we all set to go?"

"Almost ma'am," he replied as he ran a hand through his sweat-drenched black hair. A whole night had been spent trying to load Reaver's belongings onto the boat and, after unpacking some of his more unmentionable possessions, the man felt even more anxious to start their journey. He could feel the hero's eyes boring into the back of his neatly cropped hair whilst the soft-faced beauty spoke.

"You look absolutely shattered. When was the last time you took a break?" Her voice was rougher than most women, but Deprivation thought that added to some of her Albion charm. He had never met a person quite like her.

"It does not matter," he answered as he wiped his glistening forehead, "What does matter is that we start our quest today. Is the vessel to your standard, heroes? My men and I have tried to take the utmost care with it, although none of us are particularly skilled in those areas."

Reaver opened his mouth to speak however Garth cut in with a quick, "It is an excellent ship, Deprivation."

The stranger smiled before moving towards the small cluster of children. Their eyes grew as wide as dinner plates when they saw him walking up to them. The mothers watched carefully at the sidelines, even though they fluttered their eyelids at him and clucked like hens. He seemed to have a natural chemistry with the smaller people, because they suddenly jumped up and started to shout for his attention. He flashed them all a warm smile, calling for his men to take a moment to see the little ones.

"You'd think he's never seen children before," Garth mentioned to the silent Sparrow. It was true that his reaction was peculiar; Reaver wrinkled his nose at it before putting in his opinion.

"I do so despise children," he said, "Such awful little creatures. I only wish that Hobbes were not wild beasts – I think I could make a fortune selling the little urchins."

Sparrow flashed him a disdainful look. He wanted the hero to remember who he was talking to, and that his business influence did not sway the King into letting him make comments like that. However the immortal simply gave him a Devil-like grin before calling to Deprivation. The man stopped showing the children his sword long enough to look up.

"I don't mean to spoil the fun, but I do believe we're wasting sunlight."

With one look from their leader, the blue-tunic team separated from a now-growing crowd and finished throwing the rest of Reaver's things on board. Garth tried to stop a faint smile when he noticed the immortal's irritated expression; he did not like his things being thrown like common rubbish.

"If you would step on the ship, I think we can set sail," Deprivation said whilst gesturing them on-board. Reaver smiled when he passed, making the stranger feel slightly more awkward as they travelled closer to the enormous vessel.

It was a beautiful ship. Inside were purple banners fringed with gold and large chests with glittering coins outlined the very first room (all of them belonging to the immortal). Past this room was a well-decorated dining hall, complete with large bookshelves and tables, in addition to lovely china plate sets behind great glass cabinets. The rest of the rooms were private chambers for each of the heroes, which were stuffed by anything they wanted to bring on the journey. Reaver's room was entirely full of lavish furniture, including the imported red chairs and special silver goblets he bought years ago, but still he could find fault with it. Deprivation sighed as he tapped the sturdy wooden walls with the butt of his gun and complained about the non-existent creaking.

"I promise that my men and I will take your comfort in complete seriousness," he told him whilst the immortal stroked his crimson bed-sheets, "Any problem you have can be referred straight to me, and we will fix it before it becomes any more noticeable."

"Well then, I hope you are good at finding suitable bedfellows," Reaver replied with yet another devil-like grin, "There is nothing I like more than an interesting individual, one who knows what a good time really means."

Deprivation nodded towards him, although he did not know what he was getting at. There was plenty that the stranger needed to learn about Albion, and the single most baffling thing he had been faced with was Reaver's personality. What was a 'bedfellow?' And why was the immortal smiling at him like that? These questions lingered in his mind even when he took his parting bow.

"I must make sure the other heroes have found their rooms to be good condition. If there is anything you wish to tell me, I shall be dining with my men at supper time."

"Hm, I see. And if one needs to find you...after dark?"

"After dark I sleep with my team in our quarters. It is at the very bottom of this ship – I am the furthest bed from the left. Please, make yourself comfortable; we shall meet again at supper."

With that, the handsome stranger bowed a final time and disappeared out of the room. Reaver stared after him for a moment, wondering whether the man knew what he was talking about sometimes, before he turned and placed his Dragonstomper .48 down onto the special gun stand beside his bed. He admitted quietly to himself that the mystery men did a wonderful job laying out his room, although he would never say it to anyone else. Praise would only ensure work to become sloppier, that was what he believed.

"Reaver, Reaver," he cooed into the full-length mirror as he caressed his youthful, pale face and unbuckled his thick white coat, "What a devil you are."


	7. Jealous Wisdom

Dinner that night was both bland and predictable. Bread, cheese, cheap wine and small chicken meals were set up on the long splintered tables, portrayed like a miniature feast rather than an abysmal little supper. Reaver stabbed a rusted fork into the cut up food and, whilst grimacing, delicately put it into his mouth with his finest table manners. If only the others were acting as dignified.

They tore into the meal like they hadn't eaten in weeks, sending breadcrumbs flying in the air as the dinner disappeared off their plates and into the bottomless pits they called stomachs. He sighed before taking a glance over at the quieter, yet still slightly restless mystery men on the other side of the room. Barely any of them had even touched their food, and he felt a smile etch on his ancient face when Deprivation caught his eye.

"I see the royal etiquette has done wonders for your eating habits," the immortal sarcastically said to Sparrow, "For a moment, I actually thought you were a human and not a pet at feeding time."

The mute King glared at his 'friend' although he did not try to rebuke him. Instead, he just silently accepted that Reaver's condescending quips and general sarcastic personality were things he was going to have to get used to, whether or not they hated each other. Three whole months on this ship would be complete Hell if they couldn't even be civil.

"Leave him alone Reaver. You ain't so high and mighty here, so stop acting like it!" Hammer growled as she pushed aside her plate. It was polished clean like nothing was ever on it; however a few remaining breadcrumbs still clustered in the corners of her mouth. Deprivation watched her with a smile on his face – there was something charming about her rough accent and the way she dealt with the other heroes.

"Far be it from me to question our King! I just assumed someone so regal would be able to eat properly," Reaver turned his head to look at the handsome stranger, and noticed his glittering emerald eyes directed on to their table. He followed his gaze to see he was staring at Hammer and, for a moment, an odd feeling of competition descended over his mind like a cloud of toxic smoke. Why was the blue tunic leader so interested in her? It seemed his softer gazes were always directed at the large Hero of Strength.

Suddenly, he excused himself from his own men and rose from his seat before walking over to the eating heroes. His tanned face portrayed a small smile, which fell slightly when he looked at the immortals sly grin and wandering eyes.

"I hope that the meal is fit to your standards?" He said whilst gesturing to the pitiful food, "We do not often use this skill ourselves, so I apologise if it is not the kind of dinner you are used to back at home."

His eyes seemed to grow distant for just a second. It was as if the mention of home caused him to think about bad memories, although the look was gone almost as soon as it arrived.

"The food is excellent," Garth lied whilst trying to swallow his chicken, "I am surprised that you are not used to cooking. Do you not have to feed yourself? Do you have someone else to do that?"

A chuckle escaped Deprivation's lips before he explained, "We are blessed with certain gifts. They ensure that there is no...necessity to learn certain skills and pastimes, which works out well as we are all single."

He cast a meaningful glance at Hammer even though she was paying him no attention. Instead she was looking at the strange piles of books that lined the men's table, and admired how they concentrated so fiercely on them.

"Single? All of you? That is surprising – I would have thought men such as yourselves would be married at a young age," the mage said whilst gesturing for him to sit, "Many of the boys in Samarkand find themselves betrothed before they are even born."

Deprivation smiled warmly although he did not want to get into this discussion. It held not only many questions for the heroes, but also for himself.

"Betrothal is such a tedious process," Reaver piped up before pushing his plate away. His grin seemed to be directly thrown at the handsome stranger; however he did not look at him.

"How so?"

"One will find themselves stuck with the same woman, in a routine that allows for no deviation or scandalous events. What else would a man want to do but blow his brains out?"

"Some people fall in love."

"Love? Don't be ridiculous," he laughed as he sipped on the cheap wine. The bitter taste swirled in his mouth like a swarm of vermin and he reminded himself to drink something expensive when home, "Love does not exist – it is the greatest lie ever told. The best part of single life, my dear Deprivation, is that you can sleep with whoever you want and not suffer the boring conversations!"

He smiled at the man even though they all knew he was feeling very awkward. The mystery men waved their leader back over, as if they could sense his tension and wanted to rescue him.

"Give a moment Solace," he called back over whilst he got up and turned to the others, "Thank you for the...enjoyable conversation, heroes. Please, if any problems arise to jeopardise your comfort, let either me or my men know. You are our utmost priority."

With a parting bow (and a discreet smile to Hammer) Deprivation walked back over to his men, whispering quietly about their conversation. Solace patted his friend's shoulder like a comforting brother.

"Why couldn't you leave his beliefs alone, Reaver?" the large hero growled. Her dread-locked brown hair bounced carelessly over her shoulders and her angry eyes were directed straight at the well-dressed hero, who simply smiled in amusement.

"Oh please do shut up," he replied, "I only parted some of my more, wholesome wisdom onto a young man. Do not fret though my dear – I always save the best knowledge 'til last."

The hero winked whilst taking a gulp of his wine.


	8. Secret's Created

That night was complete Hell for sleep. It was always hard on the first night of any journey, resting in a place that was unfamiliar; however the heroes parted to their own rooms and attempted it nonetheless. Waves crashed against the vessel's wooden hull like a thundering hammer as they tossed and turned in their separate beds, searching for peace in a world that seemed to have none.

Reaver was probably the most awake. He laid in the large double bed, covered entirely by crimson sheets that kept cold at bay, and thought about the business he had to attend to back at Albion. Well, he was thinking about that first – the sneaking thoughts of Deprivation crept into his head as if they were wandering snakes, until the only thing the immortal had in mind was his strange 'guide'. What sort of man was he? How could he remain so cool, even when faced with such a charming hero like himself? And why in the world would he be so kind to Hammer?

The handsome stranger's actions and motives were a mystery to Reaver, and it caused him to become more wound up whenever he thought about it. As far as the ex-pirate King could tell there was nothing on Deprivation; no records, nobody willing to take a bribe and nothing incriminating would be found on the mystery man's person. It was like he had just appeared, out of absolutely nowhere. And that made Reaver so much more determined to know his secrets.

Finally, he decided to get out of bed. No point in laying around when he could be searching this ship for hidden lovelies, things that the mystery men thought were securely locked away. Just to be sure he was presentable he ran a comb through his slightly red hair and straightened the more stylish night gown, although it felt unnatural on his soft pale skin. So used to sleeping in the nude, nothing would ever feel right at this time.

An eerie silence hung like a thick cloud whilst Reaver strolled through the long hallways, searching for something that would catch his interests. All he could see were his own treasure chests filled with glittering gems and coins; nothing he did not already have was onboard...except the secrets of Deprivation. Would he be asleep now? Surely, if he was quick, he could slip into their bedroom for some clues? Being silent would be no problem...

"It will be like escaping through rear passage after Penelope set the house on fire," the immortal said aloud, "Poor girl - didn't even see it coming when I shot her between the eyes."

As he quickly (and quietly) skulked through the hallways, straight toward Deprivation's chambers, a small smile etched on his face. The memory of his dead blonde-haired wife, lying in a pool of her own blood with a bullet between her eyes caused a certain happiness to flow through his body. Her death served as a wonderful reminder to the people of Bloodstone; Reaver was not to be trifled with, and certainly not to be defied in any way. If only Andrew's body could be salvaged! His head would have been a perfect ornament for the study.

Suddenly the hero stumbled upon a flight of stairs. It seemed the oddest place to have them, right at the end of a hallway, however he digressed. The man's sense of interior design did not seem to be so sharp at the best of times – why would this be any different? The boards were creaky and lead down into an unlit corridor, although the prospect of dark did not scare Reaver anymore. He remembered a time when he was afraid, many years ago...

In curiousity he descended down them and walked through the narrow hall. It was so tight that he could feel his silky blue gown scraping against the sides before the walls suddenly expanded, and gave way to a larger chamber. He half-expected this to be the resting place of the men but not one of them were lying in the dark; he considered turning back to leave until he moved to brush back one wild lock. A glinting silver handle caught his expert eyes through the shrouding darkness, drawing his attention towards the presence of a door there, which caused him to slowly tiptoe up to it. A soft lulling music echoed from within, the sweetest lullaby Reaver had ever heard, whilst quiet talking could be heard over it. Almost without thinking, he cracked open the heavy oak entrance a slight bit so he could see inside.

All the men were awake, and seemed to be conversing normally to each other. Shed of the formalities that they were forced with in front of the heroes, they happily chatted as they sat in disorganised piles in the floor like dirty laundry. The one called 'Solace' was standing at the front, pushing his brown hair back in an over-the-top fashion and swinging his hips.

"Now, now men," he said in painfully stressed voice, "Don't you love my new outfit? If not I can change it a thousand times, just in the course of one meal! Ho, ho, I'll be off on the deck killing all the sailors if you need me!"

His friends fell about laughing, and Reaver felt a cold feeling of anger when he realised. Was that oaf trying to act like him? He had no class, no sense of style and no etiquette when speaking – people found this kind of thing amusing? His finger twitched over the gun-trigger before he remembered they were un-killable; even then he kept one hand on his Dragonstomper .48.

Deprivation laid in-between two other men, scrawling quickly in a thick journal. He was not paying attention to what the others were doing, nor to what they were saying, but the fact he was not smiling caused Reaver to feel a hint of relief. He did not know why it mattered, the stranger's reaction simply made him feel a little more secure. The ex-pirate King watched as a young man twisted underneath one pile of bodies and grinned at the stranger.

"So, Dep, when do you think you'll ask Hammer to be your-" The brown-haired man was quickly silenced.

"Do not even go there, my brother," his handsome face blushed scarlet with embarrassment, "I have told you before; Hannah and I are simply going on this quest together, and then I must return to our home."

Solace jumped down with a wicked smile before saying, "But you like her! Come on Dep – I want to be an uncle to the new Spire-Guard baby!"

The immortal's curiousity pricked for two reasons – the mention of the twisted Spire and its guards – but he felt the cold claws of jealousy dig into his skin at the name of Hammer. Rarely ever did he find competition, especially not in someone so repugnant, although it seemed that the large lady somehow managed to elbow the slim, stylish man out of Deprivation's mind.

"You know there is very little chance she would ever birth a Spire-Guard, even if I did try," he said whilst getting up and placing the book away, "And I am only granted one sexual partner, just as the rest of you. For four thousand years I have waited for the perfect mate, the perfect vessel to carry my gifted offspring; what makes you think I have already chosen Hannah?"

"For one you always call her Hannah, and not by the name she is normally called. Second, you always watch her when she's in sight. And thirdly, you keep calling her a 'soft faced beauty.' Let's face it Dep, we all know that you want her as the mother to your children."

"Even if I wanted to, I have to be certain. We have one chance for perfection, and with that one chance comes the only prospect of the Spire-Guard's survival. Our children are the future of us – how do I risk it all when I could condemn us to extinction? I care for you too much, my brothers."

What was all this nonsense? Deprivation spoke as if they were a secret organisation rather than men on a mission, and Reaver could not make sense of this 'one sexual partner' for life, let alone the mention of the man's true age. Four thousand? That was ten times older than the immortal! The handsome stranger looked so youthful, so healthy that he could be mistaken for a man of twenty. Where did he get that aspect of immortality? Or was it just a really good moisturiser?

As the hero thought about this, he did not hear Solace say, "Our order demands for offspring, so waiting for the perfect mate is completely unnecessary. We may have to kill any child born without immortality or un-gifted with the great skills in our blood, however you need to have a few offspring nonetheless. We were all given these great opportunities for sacrifice when we were fathered."

Reaver's ears pricked up after he realised he missed something. Deprivation fell silent for a moment, looking around at the eyes of the men he seemed to care so greatly for, before he finally replied.

"I understand. But when I think about murdering my own, in cold blood because they have not been gifted, I find myself suddenly grow sick with anxiety. I do not know if I shall be strong enough to kill my own child although I have to be. I wonder if my father was faced with this before..."

The room was plunged into silence as the men looked at one another. Deprivation's eyes went distant until he suddenly seemed to come back to life, albeit because one of his teammates began to speak.

"Still," Solace said with a smile on his milky white face, "I think you want to give your sexual partnership to Hammer. Who knows what could happen? Maybe you will enjoy it-"

All of a sudden, the leader suddenly jumped over his friends and landed straight on top of the man. They wrestled playfully as if big children, rolling around the almost bare room whilst trying to gain the upper-hand on each other, and the others jumped out of the way with smiles on their faces. It seemed that their dynamic as a group only worked because they acted in such a way privately, almost like they were a massive family rather than friends working together. Reaver was...impressed.

The idea of friendship powering their well-oiled machine was genius, although slightly ridiculous to the well-dressed hero. When he cocked his gun he found the workers were much easier to control; these men simply wanted to be loyal to each other because they were a family. Brothers. Reaver could remember a time when he thought similarly, when his innocence reigned supreme in an immature mind and he had not known the bitter sweet taste of immortality.

"Hey, Dep," another of the team members said when the pair finally broke apart, "What are you going to do? You know – about Hammer?"

"Do not think about that now, my brother. Think instead to our home, to our Spire, and prey that our Lady keeps it safe for us to return."

Reaver turned after that and started to walk back to his bedroom. There were plenty of things he had to think about now, as well as plenty of clues to Deprivation's strange origins, so he could not imagine sleeping when he finally reached the warm cosy bed and laid his head on the plump fluffy pillow. In addition to his first questions, he now found himself pondering on the man's involvement with the Spire that he spoke about in such affectionate tones.

And even when he felt sleep finally clutching his slim body, the icy claws of competition still gripped him like a vice.


	9. Not a Page to Read

Days passed on the ship without too much trouble. Deprivation and his men spent most of their time on the deck to look out for any potential problems, although sometimes they were found either in the dining room or their own chambers. Reaver was starting to become ever more curious about them as they talked in hushed tones, and occasionally he would hear snippets of their conversations however nothing he could really understand. It was as if they knew what he was doing, what he was trying; whenever his well-dressed self walked into a room they seemed to almost silence whilst watching him very closely.

There were times when the heroes actually had decent discussions about it. When the mystery men were up on deck, searching the vast expanse of the ocean for any hint of excitement, they sat down in the dining room and tried to come up with their own theories about them. Hammer went as far to say they were derived from the light themselves, sent to earth to protect every person in trouble; however Reaver kept the knowledge of their Spire involvement to himself. There was no point in letting everyone in on their little secret – not until he had the chance to exploit it.

One night, Deprivation was alone at dinner. His men were downstairs trying to fix Reaver's broken nightstand (which, admittedly, he broke himself) and the leader decided his time was better spent guarding the heroes. Though the only harm that could come to them right now was Sparrow's awful cooking. Grey and black splodges sat on their plates, of which their King signed as 'spinach casserole', and the handsome stranger smiled at each mixed reaction he saw. Even Reaver's was something to marvel.

"Oh dear, I was not aware that a sick Balverine was on board," the immortal commented as he prodded it with his fork, "And I was not informed we would be eating the contents of its stomach."

Deprivation scrawled away in his journal, although he kept one ear directed onto their conversation. With the absence of his men the evening was strangely boring and they provided some sort of entertainment whilst he ate the gruel.

"Just be grateful there is something on your plate," Hammer growled, "I know people that would kill for that sort of meal."

"By all means, let them. I will gladly reward the winner with it – maybe watching them beat each other to bloody, quivering pulps would give me a new appetite."

Hammer rolled her eyes but did not give a reply. She was told long ago that she was too confrontational, that her personality sometimes caused others to feel intimidated, so she had made it her goal to tone down the arguments to simple rebukes. Not even Reaver would make her angry enough to give it up.

As the heroes began to eat, Garth muttered under his breath, "Deprivation appears to be quite lonely. Why not invite him to our table?"

Sparrow shrugged his shoulders before looking expectantly at his friends. They needed to do all the talking for him since the men were completely oblivious to sign language, which infuriated the King very much. He felt as if he was losing out on some aspects of this adventure when he could not communicate with the 'guide.'

"Deprivation," Hammer said sweetly. The handsome stranger looked up as a smile stretched on his tanned features. "Why don't you come and sit with us?"

"I would love to ma'am; however I must finish writing this and go to help my men," he seemed to be distracted, even though it was the 'soft-faced beauty' that spoke to him. Reaver tried his best not to laugh when he remembered the mystery team's conversation – the memory of Solace's awful interpretation was almost lost whenever he recalled that night, and the way the leader's face blushed scarlet when put on the spot.

"Surely you can spend just a few minutes with us? The book cannot be as great as your need for relaxation," Garth pointed out whilst the immortal struggled, "Your friends would call you if they required your aid, am I correct?"

The stranger faltered for a second before getting up and replying, "I shall be able to join you for a moment, I suppose. I am sorry to not be fulfilling my duties this night; you understand that my team are always in requirement of my help, as we work together and not separately."

He settled down besides Reaver, although only because it was the only free seat. The immortal eyed the man through his blue tunic, guessing that he was rather muscular underneath the somewhat unneeded clothing, and forced himself not to come up with one of his many charming conversational topics. The time was not right yet.

And he knew how much Deprivation liked perfection.

"What are you writing there?" Hammer asked as she slurped down the disgusting supper.

"This?" the stranger replied, "Simply a journal, ma'am – nothing to worry about." He seemed guarded about the little diary, tucked securely away under his arm like a precious gem rather than a boring book. The monk raised her eyebrow although she was too respectful (or awe-struck) to ever pry about it.

"Your men seem to be very respectful of you. Being a good leader must have its own little stories and virtues to it, am I correct?"

"Yes, sir. I am grateful for such a hard-working time. Their determination and skills make sure that we are successful in anything we try; I am simply the person who co-ordinates this into a comprehensible manner."

Suddenly, the man called Solace entered the room and quickly rushed up to Deprivation. He whispered into his ear, taking a quick glance towards Reaver as he did, before the stranger's tanned face seemed to turn paler for just a moment. He turned to him and muttered in reply, "How could you break it more? Fine, tell Desolation that I shall be downstairs soon – do not think you have gotten away with this though, brother."

"I do hope that my nightstand is still in good condition?" Reaver called when the pair excused themselves and started to walk away, "It would be such a shame to spend gold on a new one."

Deprivation bowed to them at the door before answering, "I shall be in your debt if my team have broken your property, hero. Please, enjoy your meal and allow me to take it upon my own shoulders; I will try to have it back in your room before nightfall tomorrow." With that, the men disappeared fully and set off for their own chambers. Reaver smiled as turned back, brushing a lock out of his hair, until he noticed Hammer glaring down at him. What was wrong with her now?

"Don't treat them like your personal slaves. You know that they are working really hard to keep us happy." She growled whilst choking down the lumpy slime.

"My dear girl, I am simply doing what they asked. What better way to honour their talents than by using them? Honestly – you act as though I am taking advantage."

The wicked grin almost made her sick.


	10. Stolen Invitation

Deprivation spent the next day completing inane tasks for Reaver. Desolation – the youngest and clumsiest of his men – had broken the immortal's nightstand to such a degree that it was unsalvageable, and the leader found himself being asked to do ridiculous things in return for it. These tasks included painting a portrait of him, polishing his fruit and attempting to cook a five-star class meal for lunch; nothing that really called for the stranger's immense skill, however Reaver insisted they were just as important as anything else on board. Deprivation could not understand how painting the slim man's body on a white canvas was considered 'important', but he digressed.

"Excellent," he said after it was finished, "I can almost see my glowing radiance. I assume it has taken many years to paint to this measure?" It was a hint, a little gesture to show the hero was wise to his true age; however Deprivation simply shrugged his shoulders and muttered a grudging reply. He did not like these pointless chores, nor did he enjoy being ordered to do things he had not set out for, although his dedication to honour his deals made him stay silent.

"I have completed all the tasks now, hero," he pointed out whilst dabbing some more colour on the painting, "I would request for my allowance to see the men, and help the others on anything they might need. Have I repaid the debt for your property?"

It was obvious the stranger had. If anything, the things he was forced to do surpassed the value of the nightstand, but Reaver was not going to tell him that. He would not want the handsome man to feel he was owed in some way...

"I suppose you have repaid the table's worth," the hero replied whilst gesturing towards the door, "However, I would request one more thing of you, before everyone starts occupying the dining hall."

"Of course."

"Join me for dinner, in my chambers," the confused expression lining his handsome features was almost child-like as Reaver continued, "I am simply starving for a decent meal conversation, and you are the only man who can compliment my own intelligence. You won't refuse this invitation will you? Many others have met gruesome fates when they do..."

The threat was non-existent to Deprivation although he nodded in agreement. Not being particularly scared of the immortal, he did not see any threat in spending one meal alone with him; the topics for 'decent dinner conversation' were slim on this ship though. What would they ever talk about? An intellectual discussion about Albion? Maybe something about its many creatures, such as Balverines or Hobbes? The stranger made a mental note to re-read the books on board and make sure he was well-versed in Albion knowledge.

"Delightful. Now, run along, and do not forget to be back in my chambers for eight o'clock sharp. I do so hate it when my guests are late," a parting menace that fell on deaf ears, as the leader simply vanished out of the room without so much as a word. Reaver watched as the blue-tunic wearing man sashayed past the expensive furniture and glittering bowls of gemstones, before disappearing down the hallway towards his team's bedroom. A smile played on his youthful face whilst he thought of the things they could talk about that night – secrecy, the Spire, maybe they would even delve into the ancient history of Lucien and his mad scheme...

"You!" A loud boom echoed from the door, "I can read you like a book, Reaver. Don't you even think about it, not while we are still on this ship!" The voice belonged to Garth, deep despite his many years and still holding a certain key of strength within it. If the immortal had been any other man, he would have trembled at the very sound of it. Instead he simply smiled at the wizard who so rudely entered his room.

"I'm sure I do not know what you are talking about. I have only invited Deprivation for dinner; you act as though I have a motive behind it!"

Both of them tried to keep each other's gazes. For many years the only adversaries they had to stare at were their own reflections, and now the old enemies were facing each other once again in another dispute. It was almost novel-worthy...if it was written by Meredith Sock.

"Do not insult my intelligence. I know you're trying to steal that journal, and I will not allow it. If it disappears, I will be telling the men exactly who has taken it," the wizard narrowed his eyes before turning back on his heels. The glowing blue Will-lines decorating his body seemed to shine through his ordinary beige clothes, winking at the immortal as they disappeared around the corner. Reaver rushed up to the heavy door and slammed it shut; locking it tightly so that any more unwelcome guests were kept on the other side. What was it about knocking these days? It was as if everyone had lost their manners since stepping on board.

He turned back around to admire the room. It was hardly presentable, with his unwashed clothes scattered on the floor and dirty chalices lining the drawers like an odd border, but he had plenty of time to clean it up. If only his maids were available – he would make a point to hire some travel servants next time, so that any of the tedious day-to-day chores did not involve him.

The clothes he often wore were unsuitable for this task. Expensive fabrics coloured envy green, blood red and snow white did not fit cleansing activities, nor did they serve a purpose as table cloths, which caused Reaver to think on his toes about how he would impress Deprivation that night. He was not one to fall short of excellence.

"Why must these tedious tasks plague themselves on me?" He asked himself in the sparkling mirror, "Have I not paid my dues these past hundred years? No matter; the chap does not strike me as the sort to condemn disarray, of any kind. Do not fret – Deprivation has probably never seen a clean room before."

However, whilst he started to don the out-of-date designer clothes and gather up a few of the chalices, the thought of the journal played on his mind. It was obvious Garth wanted to read it just as much, if not more, although the wizards' morals were probably objecting to the craving. Would he dare to tell the blue-tunic team? The mage hated his counterpart, but he could not see him putting anyone in any type of danger, especially not potential death. Maybe its absence would not be noticed if it was returned straight away...

There was only one way to find out.


	11. Dinner Conversation

Hours passed, and Reaver had cleaned his room to near perfection. The chalices that once lined his drawers were gone, thrown into a wash basin somewhere, whilst the discarded dirty clothes were being handled by the more gentle sailors. It was perfect – their services only cost the immortal a measly hundred gold and they were not even being paid overtime for all their work. Not that Reaver ever paid his servants overtime.

Deprivation was exactly on time that night, clad in a new outfit. It was exactly the same as his blue tunic in the sense it still had the shining gold clasps and the shoulder pads were still fringed with gold lining, however this one was dyed a deep red like blood. The outfit complimented his tanned face as he settled down in one of the dark purple chairs and peered curiously at the dinner preparations. He had never seen such care taken for something so trivial.

With polished silver cutlery and china plates in exactly symmetrical positions, complete by a beautiful white candle flickering with a dancing flame, it looked as if they were having a meal of celebration rather than a simple discussion. He noticed that a white table cloth had been settled over the sturdy table, although he paid no more attention to it when he saw Reaver taking his place.

"This must have taken a fair few hours," the stranger said whilst his dinner partner poured some wine, "The fact you went through so much trouble surprises me."

The immortal gave him a sly smile before replying, "I make it a point to impress my dinner guests – by the expression on your face, I gather it has worked rather well, hasn't it?" Despite the slightly unnerving grin, Deprivation nodded slowly in a sign of respect.

"What topic did you want to discuss?" the leader asked, "I have a wide-ranging knowledge of Albion; I do not think we shall run into anything that has not been mentioned to me before."

It was an obvious hint that he was not comfortable here. As a team leader he felt more at home when eating with his men or studying in solitude, but now he knew that any sense of homeliness was out of the question. The immortal had seen that everything was to his own tastes.

"Such a dreary topic," Reaver answered as his wicked smile widened and he sipped on his wine, "You really expect me to waste my breath on Albion? No my dear man; there is nothing that would bore me quite so much. Let us talk about something more...stimulating."

Deprivation raised an eyebrow before cutting into his lamb dinner. It was expertly cooked and presented in such a lovely manner, topped with sprigs of mint like a strange hat, though he found it less appealing than he should have. The thought of a bad dinner amongst his men was far more enticing to him.

"I will attempt to contribute; however it would be wise to warn you about my rather...specific education. Many of the things you have probably seen, I have yet to become aware of."

"And what knowledge do you have of the Old Kingdom, hm?"

The handsome stranger choked slightly on his wine. His piercing emerald eyes were trained on the immortal's pale, slender face, whilst he felt his hand clenching up in a fist underneath the table.

"Old Kingdom?" he muttered through gritted teeth, "Only as much as I have read in books, hero. I have been taught that the beast we face – the Crawler – is the main reason for its collapse many years ago."

Reaver's face played with an expression of glee. He could see how the man's reaction had changed towards him, how his usually cool demeanour was suddenly swapped for this slightly angered temperament. It was almost thrilling.

"Books are such useful little tools," he grinned whilst eating a succulent piece of lamb, "I could certainly be persuaded read more, if my hectic schedule would ever allow for it. It does beg the question however, if you can really feel the experience through words printed on a page. Would it not be simply delightful to watch the Old Kingdom burn, right before your very eyes?"

It was yet another hint that Reaver was wise to Deprivation's true age. His idea was that, albeit very young, the handsome stranger would have been alive to witness the mass destruction of the Old Kingdom, and might have remembered it in some way. By the looks of things, he did.

Deprivation narrowed his eyes before muttering, "What are you getting at, Reaver?" The immortal was almost flattered – it was one of the first times his guest had called him by name.

"A mere suggestion, food for thought," he chuckled, "Personally, I assume it would be quite the thrill to watch something so large, so prosperous, burn to ashes and crumble to nothing." At that moment, the ex-pirate King stroked the butt of his weapon that sat on the other side of him. The gesture caused Deprivation to look, although he quickly glanced away when he saw the firearm.

"Something wrong?" Reaver asked when he noticed the movement.

"Nothing, Hero."

"Do you not admire my weapon? Only six made in the world, don't you know, and I own a good five of them. Have you never seen one? I assume not – I always see you using a crossbow."

"On the contrary, my father owned one."

"Not one quite as magnificent as this, however. A Dragonstomper .48; many men have died in pursuit of this fine weapon."

"May I?" For a moment, Reaver was uncertain whether to hand him the weapon, although he soon found himself carefully picking it up and allowing the stranger to have a look at it. His white-gloved hands slowly traced its curves whilst muttering, "Double barrel, same design as a Master Clockwork Pistol, equipped for much faster shooting and handling."

The immortal smiled his wicked grin and said, "Your knowledge of guns almost rivals my own, Deprivation. I do not like rivals – if you were any normal man, I would kill you without even thinking."

His dinner guest did not even reply to him, instead losing himself in a world of thought. Reaver sat back for a minute, before coughing to regain the stranger's attention. Deprivation's eyes were glazed with a certain sadness, one that the ex-pirate King knew all too well, and it took a few moments before the look finally dissolved and was replaced by one of determination.

"An impressive gun, Hero."

"I have many weapons at my disposal. On board right now, I only have two, though one is very large and I find it the most deadly. Would you like to see it?" The sentence was layered with obvious innuendo and complimented by a glint in Reaver's eye; however the stranger's attention was now drawn to his clothing. He could not recall seeing such expensive fabrics all on one man.

"Is the outfit you are wearing ceremonial?" the leader asked whilst chewing slightly. His table manners were certainly better than the other men but this did not mean they did not need polishing.

"This? Oh no, no, no, no. I simply threw it on for lack of options," his host purred in reply though in actual fact he spent hours selecting it, "I must say, I am pleased with your choice of formalwear. Who knew such a seasoned worker could look so dashing?"

"When my men die, we are required to wear this for their funerals. It symbolises the noblest blood being spilt, and the victory they had during life." As he spoke, he touched the gold clasps of his outfit and smiled softly, which caused his tanned face to light up slightly. Genuine smiles from his lips were so rare.

"Death is not an ailment you suffer, I thought?"

"Not through the means of disease, or mortal wounds. When one of our own strikes us down, sheds our blood with his hands, then we can perish just as any other man. It is because of these rules that we are loyal to each other – my brothers hold my life just as I hold theirs."

Reaver sighed. All this talk of honour and loyalty was making him nauseous, although he found the little nugget of information was most interesting. What breed of man could only kill each other? Was it another hint of this 'Spire-Guard' race?

"Immortality is no burden to bear." Deprivation suddenly cut in whilst the ex-pirate King thought, "My men and I are honoured to be blessed with it."

"Hm, the Spire must have been quite a place to keep you under such an illusion," the stranger's eyes widened after his host said this, his mouth pursing slightly as if he had just been told something disgusting, "Oh, did I not mention? I overheard your little 'conversation'. I know about you, and your men, and it will take more than gold to convince me to hold my tongue."

For a moment, everything was still. The silence in the room was so intense that almost anyone could hear the candle flame flickering, although soon a quick flurry of movement found the table thrown to the ground and both men standing up, weapons directed at each other and eyes trained. Reaver smiled as he cocked his gun, watching as Deprivation pointed his sword to his slender throat.

"You cannot kill me, thief."

"Maybe not, but I am surprisingly nimble on my feet. How quickly can you thrust that sword? I assure you; I can disappear before you even moved your arm."

"I should tear your throat out!"

"My dear man, we both know you can't do that. Without me, the ever important Reaver, this journey would be a type of wasted effort wouldn't it?"

Deprivation continued to hold his stare however he slowly lowered his sword, "What must I do for your silence? Slavery?" The immortal smiled, his gun still pointed at the man's head, and shrugged his shoulders in reply.

"Oh no, my dear man, of course not slavery. Do I seem like the cruel sort to you?" Reaver replied evilly as he slowly stepped up to him, "Not many have stayed at the end of my gun for so long and not died. You certainly are a special case."

As the gap was closed in between them, Deprivation found himself almost...captivated by the immortal's charm. Even when faced at the end of his gun, and staring into the mad eyes of a man Hell-bent on power, he could feel a soft whisper of lure. Without thinking, their faces became a lot closer than they should have been and the stranger's eyes became narrowed.

"I have broken better men than you Reaver," he growled in a soft tone, "Mark my words, you have reckoned with a force much greater than yourself."

For a moment, their heads drifted ever closer to each other, threatening to connect until Deprivation regained his senses and pulled himself back. The immortal sighed before brushing back a wild brown lock.

_So close._

"When you request my services again thief, send for me," he growled whilst stamping to the door, "I will make quick work of anything you ask me to do."

And with that, he was gone.


	12. My Strength

Deprivation felt cold air brush against his face. Loud sea waves crashed against the hull of his wooden vessel, splashing his handsome features with their salty whips, and he attempted to breathe through the hot smell of rotting garbage on board. He was so anxious that neither the twinkling diamonds above him nor the lulling harmony of the sea were calming to his mood. What was he going to tell the men? How could he make their fears seem unnecessary, when even their leader was struggling to cope? Reaver knew about their Spire involvement...he knew where they came from. It was only a matter of time before the rest of their secrets were revealed to the immortal thief.

"I am the first leader to have this happen," he muttered to himself angrily, "I am the first to lead the men out, on my own will, and now I have paid for it by letting another gain knowledge of our order. My name is a disgrace to all Spire-Guards."

It was a deep-rooted fear for him, that he should ever fail his team. Failure in itself was expressly forbidden, condemned in any text the stranger had ever read; now he knew the sour taste of defeat and he did not know how to deal with it.

"If my father were here, I would be killed without a second thought. If he still lead the Spire-Guards, and I were still a boy learning how to stand on his own two feet, then this fiasco would never have happened. My Lady – please forgive the men, for it is I who have failed you," he spoke as if someone was standing there, conversing with him in his hour of need, however in truth he was standing on deck alone. Even the sailors had disappeared for the night in favour of their meagre little common rooms. This whole situation was making him sick to his stomach with anxiety.

Suddenly, he heard rather loud footsteps behind him. He did not turn immediately, for he knew they could not belong to Reaver, although he felt the soft pricks of curiousity setting in his skin. Who was coming to the deck at this hour? Did one of the sailors leave something behind? He thought that none of them had anything valuable on their person, though as of late he was expressly observational.

"Deprivation? What the Hell are you doing up here? You must be bloody freezing!" The familiar voice was like music to his ears, and caused him to turn with a small smile on his tanned face. His eyes were already used to the dark so he found no trouble pinpointing Hammer's beautifully soft face, looming close to the ship's stairs like an angel in chaos. The handsome stranger leaned against the sturdy wooden edge, one hand gripped on it so he could prop himself up slightly.

"Ah, Hannah; the cold does not bother me as much as my solidarity," he purred in his most affectionate tone, "Any breeze against my face is a blessing, so long that it does not chill the air in my lungs and make me gasp for breath. However, you seem to be doing both right now."

The Hero of strength blushed slightly. It was so rare that she got a compliment, especially from one such as Deprivation with his piercing emerald eyes and handsome features. His smile caused her to feel a strange knot forming in her stomach.

"Still, if you stand 'round here much longer yer gonna catch hypothermia or something. I'd rather you were inside, warm, than here," she pointed out though her throat felt dry. The leader's eyes sparkled at her for a moment before he replied.

"One seldom finds someone as caring as you are, Hannah. Tell me – what makes you so kind, to a world that gives nothing back in return?" He did not want to cause her offense; it was exact opposite in fact, though she felt the question was a little out-of-turn. As far as the heroes could tell Deprivation had not been in society long enough to pass judgement; however she did not point this out to him. There was something about his smile, about his genuine curiousity, that she found appealing.

"You don't know much about the world. People don't have much gold in their pockets, and they can't get by in life with people like Reaver breathing down their necks for money, so it's nice to be helpful once in a while," she explained whilst setting her large body next to him, "You should know about being nice."

"Should I, ma'am?"

"Well, yeah. You're calm, patient, kind to people like the pompous little arse Reaver. You don't get much else in return either, 'cept of course feeling good about it."

Her argument was well-reasoned, for the information that he had given them. If she knew the true reason his men set themselves about this quest and supported the heroes through it, she may have changed her praising tune to one of condemnation. She would never understand why they were actually here, despite her kind attitude towards men she barely knew about.

"I rarely meet other people beside my men. The effort to be kind is not so straining when it is taken scarcely, I find, and I do not find it trying to talk to Reaver like a civil man. We are adults, in the end," although he forced himself to say the words, Deprivation could not put his soul into them. After the eventful dinner with the immortal, he could hardly think about looking upon his smug face again, let alone talk about him in a way that masked his disgust. It felt unnatural to not kill someone who angered him.

"Yer a saint then. I don't think even my father-" Hammer noticed the sudden change in her friend's expression. He turned on his heels to look sadly down at the sea, as if the mention of a father caused him sorrow, before sighing slightly under his breath. She laid one heavy hand on his shoulder; instantly his tense muscles eased to her touch.

"I am sorry. Fathers are a...tender subject for me to talk about," he apologised although his interest understood. She found it difficult to talk about the Abbot as well, despite his passing happening more than ten years ago. She felt the stranger's grief seeping through his tanned skin as she stroked his broad shoulder.

"I understand mate," she purred comfortingly, "Were you very close with him?"

"In a manner of speaking. I owe everything to my father; everything I am today is a result of his teaching. I do not think I shall ever fully understand his loss," it was a strange statement. Hammer noticed he used the word, 'understand' instead of, 'come to terms' and felt her eyebrow raise almost of its own free will. What did he mean by that? Surely he knew the concept of death, even though he did not suffer from it? An intellectual such as himself – it was a wonder he did not have infinite wisdom locked in those dazzling green eyes. The eyes that almost captivated her with every glance.

"He must have been a good man," she said, discarding the thought, "To raise a son like you takes a lot of work. It's obvious that he did a bloody brilliant job."

Deprivation turned on his heels to face her. His eyes glittered like shining orbs of hope, looking up at her due to his slightly smaller stature, before they felt their faces growing closer. She was perfectly happy to let this happen as she had been admiring him for a long time, and he felt as though he was completing another aspect of his life when they grew closer. The harmony of the sea provided a perfect romantic mood, pulling their impending kiss to a more perfect state, whilst their hands intertwined and the sea splashed their fingers. If anyone else stood there, with a partner that they loved more than life itself, nothing would have stopped the soft embrace.

However, the leader halted. Centimetres from the hero's face he paused, looking at the soft pink lips that waited expectantly in front of him, before he sighed. All he could think about was Reaver's face, the smug grin that played on his lips as he closed the gap between them, and it caused him to simply pull his head back. That man had ruined everything for him tonight.

"I am sorry ma'am," he sighed as she opened her sparkling blue eyes, "One any other night, I would not think twice about kissing you. However tonight, I find myself somewhat pre-occupied with a matter of great importance, so I must refrain from distracting myself any further. Especially with something that could make me forget all the chaos in my life."

He was flattering which caused Hammer to smile softly at him, before turning back towards the stairs. Her lips still tingled like an electrified wire, even though she had not kissed the handsome stranger.

"No worries, Deprivation. I understand," she called over her shoulder whilst trampling down the stairs. He listened as the loud footsteps began to grow quieter and quieter, until they had completely disappeared into nothingness. His sigh was louder than the waves thrashing his boat's hull.

He turned back to feel the breeze again, although he wanted to run to bed and forget about this awful day. The inane tasks he was forced to do that morning, the dinner he had been forced to share with Reaver, and now the fact he could not even kiss his love interest without the immortal's pale, slender face drifting into his mind – it seemed like the world was piling up against him, trying to break down his spirit for not being an active part of society.

But the world was weak. Deprivation was strong. He had seen things, heard things, fought things that would have driven a normal man insane, yet he stood there with his brothers as youthful and as stable as ever. If the world pushed him he would push back, with a force that was ten times as powerful, and his men standing behind him every step of the way. What else could he do? If he let go, everything would be lost. He would never let himself down that way, let alone force his men into a world of chaos that could have been avoided. This was his burden to bear, his gift to nurture and train to perfection. It was his duty.

He did not have the option to fail.


	13. I Remember a Nightmare

Cold, rushing wind blew overhead as Reaver ventured cautiously down the hall. Darkness enveloped this place, so thick that not even the sun could melt its iron grip, and the hero found himself gripping ruined walls just to navigate his next footsteps. Why did he feel so weak? So pitiful and so nervous, despite the fact he had been lying in his bed not seconds ago. Like a man preparing for battle, he cocked his trusty gun before carefully stepping over crumbled roof pieces, trying desperately to see where he was going. The weapon felt different, rusty, but for the shadows hanging around him he could not peer at it properly.

Deprivation could feel himself restricted. A thin piece of cloth was wrapped around his eyes, a barrier so he could not see, and his wrists were being cut into by rough strips of rope as if he was being arrested. A sharp, frozen breeze slashed against his cheeks like a whip whilst he could hear the soft whispers behind him, chatter which reminded him frightfully of a scene that happened long ago. The stranger did not struggle against his bonds even though the pain cut through him as sharply as a sword's blade.

"Come on man," Reaver found his words were not his own, "Just a little further, and you will not be forced to watch the wrinkles appear. They will sort everything out – just keep moving forward, like Victoria said in her story." What had happened to his wide-ranging vocabulary? Why was he suddenly speaking as if he was a simply farmer? For a moment he felt all of his intellect being leeched away, until he shook his head and continued to walk down the hall.

"With this challenge, pet, you will always be known as a Spire-Guard," the stranger heard the soft female voice mutter in his ear as a hand caressed his shoulder, "And you will be one step closer to replacing your father as leader. I'm so proud of you." He could remember the voice, the touch, the words; long ago, when he was just a few hundred years old, his mother had said exactly the same to him moments before it happened. Moments before his world tumbled to the ground like a sack full of grain being thrown off a building.

Suddenly, a flood of light poured over Reaver as he entered a grand chamber. Long since abandoned in ruin, there was but a small platform for the immortal to stand on and a single grand structure floating in front of him, almost whispering with immense power as he wandered to the very edge. He peered down to see a near-bottomless pit below him, which was so deep shadows swathed halfway through and did not allow for him to see straight down. He suddenly realised where he was – it was at that point that he willed himself to awaken.

Deprivation heard a strange noise behind him. The chattering instantly ceased, giving birth to a nervous silence before he felt a sharp object connect with his back. For a second he considered screaming out in agony or falling to his knees with indescribable pain; however the leader stood firmly against the stinging ache like a man possessed. He was determined to pass this challenge; otherwise every minute of his brutal training would have been wasted.

"Who enters our chamber?" The hero jumped backwards in surprise, just as the candles around him sprung to life and three hooded shadows appeared on their bone-constructed thrones. He wanted to run immediately, leave this tomb and never return, although he knew that there was no way he could escape now. The shadows would be after him in a second if he even attempted it.

"Just a few more strikes, pet," the soft voice tickled the strangers ear once more, "Then you will be one of us. Hundreds of years have passed since you were born Wilbur – soon you will have your new name, and you will be my Spire-Guard son." Deprivation felt the beginnings of a smile stretching on his face, even though another strike slashed over his back like a whip made of steel. The training was almost over, and soon he would join the other Spire-Guard boys in a ceremony that required decades of preparation. It was liberating to feel the sword hitting his back a thousand times over.

For a brief moment, both men felt that their struggles were over. As Reaver babbled his wishes to the Shadow Court and the stranger faced his final training challenge, it was as if the trials they were forced to carry with them were finally coming to an end. Sweet senses of peace washed over their souls, in an instance that rendered both of them almost speechless.

"Go now," the shadows murmured to their latest victim seconds after he finished speaking, "Go now and suffer the payment for immortality. And remember that, upon this day every year, you shall bring us forth a sacrifice in trade for your eternal youth. As each offering is made, our contract shall be forever binding."

"Stop this insanity!" A scream sounded behind the stranger, and he found himself suddenly turning. Blood dripped down his back like a waterfall however he did not pay it any attention; it was almost of their own free will that his hands removed his blindfold, "Stop indoctrinating him! Join me for the true power, the true honour – join me, your leader, to become something better than yourselves!" The blindfold fell to the floor just in time for Deprivation to see his father standing there, waving his arms like a madman, and plagued on his face by something unfamiliar. It was almost as if bone was forming over the ex-leader's beautiful appearance. It frightened the man immensely.

Reaver rushed through the gates of the Shadow Court, trying to rid his memory of the shadow's menacing appearance as he burst out into the open air. Dancing candlelight from Oakvale showed him the path home, although he found himself somewhat immobilised by an invisible force. Why could not rush back to his humble abode? He wanted to show his beloved Victoria his new-found immortality; he wanted to convince her to make the agreement herself, so that they would never be forced to part, even when most people were being separated by death.

"This is blasphemy to our order, Chaos. Please, your son is about to complete his training – allow us to make him a full member of the Spire-Guard, before you go spouting your hatred," Deprivation looked at his blonde-haired mother, rebuking his father as if he were a child, although he could not join her in the conversation. Maybe it was the pain, or maybe it was the fact he had so much respect for his parents; he just found himself unable to speak.

Both men were suddenly deafened by screaming. Images flashed in their minds like a collage of destruction, before they felt the cold icy claw of realisation ripping through their souls as they madly rushed towards their homes. Deprivation recalled seeing the massive structure of the Spire around him, drenched in the blood of a dozen Spire-Guards, and he could remember rushing towards a small alcove shaped lovingly in the wall. Reaver could recollect his beloved town being swathed by malicious shadow beings, ones that were tearing out the thatch from house's rooftops and pulling villagers from their homes, before breathing white souls from their withered little bodies. It was madness. It was chaotic.

It was a memory that would haunt them forever.

The next thing that they remembered was a sudden eerie silence. Deprivation moved from his hiding place (otherwise known as his room) and tried to stop from wretching as he saw the scene in front of him. There was blood, dead bodies – all of the leader's friends were lying in front of him, stripped away of their lives, and he could not even see where his father had disappeared to. The blood from his back dripped on the floor behind him whilst he ventured towards his now-dead family.

Reaver shifted through the wreckage of Oakvale. Dozens of dead bodies littered the once clean streets, shattering the perfect image of his idyllic little village, although he was more concerned about finding his beloved Victoria. She just had to be alive; the only reason he had fallen for the shadow's merciless trick was because he never wanted to be parted from her. They could not have destroyed his only reason for immortality.

Both of them collapsed to their knees. Mud dampened through Reaver's pauper trousers as he clutched the fair head of his beautiful bride-to-be, with her eyes closed for the final time and her body growing icy cold. She was covered by a strange darkness that almost leeched the hero's energy whilst he stroked her face, however he did not care about that. She was still so immaculate, so flawless that he struggled not to immediately lose his mind at the knowledge of her demise. Deprivation was clutching the head of his mother, who had been with him since the beginning of his life, and struggled to not weep at the sight of her blood-spattered face. Her once-glittering blue eyes were now shut, her thin pink lips were stretched in an immortalised frown and her silky soft hair was dried with the blood of her heart. How could his father do this? How could he destroy them like this? He had taught him everything, every detail that made the Spire-Guards who they were; it was maddening to think a man he once adored was responsible for this destruction.

It was at that moment that Reaver and Deprivation shared something. Despite being separated by thousands of years, and the fact that they both changed in different ways to cope, they were both bonded by these awful events that destroyed their original lives. Like men possessed they suddenly stood from the wreckage of their pasts, facing the sea with their heads held high and their hands clenched in determined fists, before making a silent vow.

As Reaver pushed through death-soaked Oakvale and ran for the developing settlement Bloodstone, that was when the ex-Pirate King was truly born. His name long forgotten now, discarded for memories of booze and prostitutes, the only thing he could truly remember from that life he once led was the death of his beautiful Victoria. It was a nightmare that would haunt him to this day.

As Deprivation rushed to the nursery to look for the remaining Spire-Guards, he attempted to pick up the shattered pieces of his life by teaching them the ancient ways. The name 'Wilbur' was unwanted, unneeded; it simple served as a reminder of the day he lost everything. And so, with the few remaining members surrounding him, he donned his own name of glory before declaring himself the rightful leader of their order. That was when the true Deprivation was born – in the ashes of the life he wished to lead, he brought forth the survivors of that fateful day and created a world that almost serviced.

Suddenly, they awoke with a fright. The stranger was sweating so hard that his sheep-skin bed was soaked through, although he was glad to see his state had not roused the other members. Smiling, he gazed down at his men and remembered times when they were more innocent; a time when they were simply babies cooing at the aspect of greatness, and he was the one teaching them the ways of their order. Now they were his worthy team. Now they were the Spire-Guards – they did their deceased family proud whenever they honoured their tasks.

Reaver was alone. Not much had changed in that sense, even though he always had willing bedfellows in Albion and the various letters offering daughters for marriage; he still found himself lying alone every night in a bed that was too large for his slim body. But why would he want to change that? Why would anyone, in the poorest man, subject himself to such torment as unity? It was a vile thought to think about, one that made the hero shiver with disgust whenever he pondered on it.

The men were so different in their ways, that it was a wonder anything could be found to connect them. It was there though and, although they both were dealing with it in ways that were entirely separate, neither of them could go back to sleep once the nightmares tore through them.

Neither of them could escape their pasts.


	14. Breakfast Court

Deprivation was quiet all through breakfast. Despite his men chattering away to each other in respective tones and the heroes also settling to a lovely conversation, the stranger found nothing that peeked his interests. Reaver had not shown up that morning, instead choosing to sit in his room and style his hair, although the three remaining guests were more than happy to continue without him. If anything, they saw it as a well-deserved break.

Occasionally, Hammer would glance up at the leader. Garth noticed her movements, her stares, and found it difficult not to coo at her in a fatherly fashion. He could feel the budding flower of young love between them, even though Deprivation kept himself strangely distant from them that morning. He did not even offer them his services; he simply gathered his men after breakfast and wandered to the deck, in the hopes that the sailors needed help with something.

"Do you think he's okay?" The hero of Strength asked as she brushed her dreadlocked hair over her broad shoulder, "He seems kind of...weird today. Like, he didn't even talk to you Garth, and he didn't look at Sparrow. He didn't even look at-"

"I am sure he is fine, Hammer," the mage chuckled lightly, "If only I were young enough to feel the sting of new love again. There is barely life enough in these old bones to keep me going for my adoration of books, let alone another person!"

The monk blushed a bright scarlet before rebuking her friend. She did not see her affection for him as love, nor did she wish to discuss it with people who were sure to make fun, although the evidence for her care was clear. The thought of their near-embrace was enough to make her stomach twist itself in knots.

Suddenly, they heard a door slam open. An exasperated sigh sounded soon after it, followed by the echoing thuds of footsteps clicking up to the dining hall. Sparrow raised his eyebrows as Reaver revealed himself, looking as over the top as ever with a twinkling diamond cane and his trademark white coat, completed by his regular sky-scraping top hat. Was it just the immortal who thought that looked good? The king could not recall anyone ever designing such a ridiculous outfit for him to wear.

"Good morning Reaver. I trust you slept well?" Garth was the first to greet him although he had his own reasons for it. The mage was awoken by his 'friend's' screaming the previous night, and he felt twinges of sympathy for him when he gazed at his slightly fickle expression. It was obvious that the man had his own demons to battle.

"Bonjour loves," he greeted in an overly cheery tone whilst settling down to his cabbage soup, "I see that my suggestions for the meals have gone unheeded. Do you know, in my mansion, anyone who wastes my time gets shot? By the looks of this breakfast, I may have to start enforcing that law here as well."

"Leave the cooks alone – they're doing the best they can," Hammer growled whilst sipping her murky green soup, "We've not got much left on this thing, and there's still at least a month's worth of journey to go. The food is only going to get worse from here."

The immortal chose to ignore her. He was too pleased with his new hairstyle to argue, which he demonstrated by brushing back a slightly red lock and smiling at her in the way she hated. The look of pure hatred on her face sent a shiver down his spine; he had yet to figure out if he liked it or not.

"Deprivation has already left?"

"Yes, Reaver. They went to work early today."

"I wonder if I can enforce that work ethic into my own employees," the hero pondered whilst nibbling his bread, "All they seem to be capable of is dying and wasting my valuable resources on 'humane treatment'. Deprivation's men care very little for those rules. One marvels at the possibilities..."

Hammer, once again, bit her tongue as her 'friend' spoke. It was difficult not to lunge for him, attack his youthful pale face, since he spoke so loosely of her beloved Deprivation's team. She felt her cheeks flush red when her mind wandered over the leader's beautiful features.

"You never answered my question," Garth pointed out to the immortal, "Did you sleep well last night?" Reaver dropped the bread that hung so delicately in his hands, but out of shock or anger the mage could not tell. His sly expression quickly changed to one of fury, although it soon dissolved into a vacant little smile.

"I slept like an infant," he replied whilst tapping his heel on the floor, "I find that this ship's incessant creaking provides the perfect night-time symphony, don't you? I simply must remember to have that corrected – Deprivation vowed to repair such annoyances."

Reaver smiled slightly before sipping on his cheap wine. It was early to be drinking alcohol, however when he lived forever the worries of damage to the skin became little more than nuisances in the back of his mind. He noticed Hammer staring at him as she ate through yet another bread roll, which caused him to hide his smirk whilst thinking about their dwindling food supply.

"Deprivation seems like a very just man," Garth eventually broke the silence before it could drag on, "And he is quite interested in you, Hammer. If you asked him for his courtship, I am sure he would not decline." The large hero blushed for a third time, her muscles rippling slightly as she gathered up her things and excused herself from the dining table. Reaver felt jealousy burning in his soul whilst he watched her thrash her way through the room.

"Do you truly believe Deprivation would be at all interested in her?" The immortal snorted at his 'friend', "A refined man such as himself would only be courted by the most regal of people, do you not think?"

"Do I sense jealousy, Reaver?"

"Unlike me, your senses are becoming impaired by age," the immortal stood up before walking over to the doorway, turning back only to shout, "And do not assume I want the courtship of Deprivation. I have many other suitors, you know!"

And with that, the immortal vanished from the room. Garth smiled as he turned to the King, who sat next to him with a smirk dancing on his coarse features.

"It seems that our guide has two choices for his affection," the mage laughed, "Let us hope he chooses wisely."


	15. Warning

The wind on deck was brisk that day. Deprivation could smell rain on the air, lingering on the horizon like a slight scent of rose petals, and he smiled slightly as the ship sailed closer to it. He liked the thought of storms; so long had he been locked up in the Spire, he had never been on the sea during a tempest. The idea of battling one back like a mighty beast sent shivers down his spine.

"Dep – the sailors say that storms are not good," his friend Solace muttered whilst carrying a large box past him, "They say that they can overturn a ship, and kill everyone on board. How will we keep them protected against the elements?" It was a reasonable question although his leader sensed the mistrust in it. Ever since they had heard the thief knew of their Spire involvement, morale had dropped significantly and Deprivation could feel their questioning of his leadership. Never before had a leader of the Spire-Guard's allowed another's knowledge of their great order.

"Do not fret, brother. I will personally take on these extra duties when the storm arrives. It will be marvellous to witness it first hand; for once I would prefer to stand outside and get wet, rather than lie inside and miss such an opportunity."

Solace gazed at him with affection dancing in his eyes. Despite being sceptical of their current situation, Deprivation was still his brother and his leader, who had taught him the ways of their noble ancestors when he was just a boy. If anything was owed to him, it was the team's never-faltering loyalty.

"We know that the developments here are...interesting, at best," he softly said as he dropped the box and patted his friend's shoulder, "Just remember, my brother, that we are still at your side whenever you need our assistance. Reaver may know the place we hail from, but he shall never know the reason why our loyalty is so strong with you."

As Solace shuffled away, carrying his wooden burden in a proud manner, Deprivation felt the beginnings of a smile quivering on his lips. There was not much he had received in this life – things like relaxation, pleasure and privacy were unknown to him – however the love of his men made up for all of these sacrifices. If there had been a chance for him to have a million lovers, or to spend one evening with friends he could trust, he would always choose the latter option.

He began to focus on his own work for a while. Stripping away twine rope that cut into his fingers like the sharpest metal, the stranger's face was etched with expressions of pain and frustration, although his dedication to finish any task kept him unwavering. He often wondered what his life would have been if he were a simple farmer, who could have a partner that was not bred for perfection and children not destined for hard work, but these thoughts did not rest well with him. If he remembered his father's teaching, it was evident that the want for a better life was pointless as it could never be fulfilled.

It seemed though, that the world was full of dreamers. In his sort trip to Bowerstone Castle he met many who wanted to feel special, in the forms of beautiful women trying to court him or strapping men offering their services; even though he had made it clear they were simply passing through. They seemed content to dream in their own little ways, hope for a life that was better than their own – it was fascinating to see their reactions when he pushed their offers aside.

Suddenly, he looked up to see an unusual white light. It floated in the distance, like a majestic bird coasting on the breeze, and almost blinded him as he gazed towards it. Not knowing how to react, he turned to see if any other sailors had spied the strange disturbance; however no one so much as turned their heads towards it. It was as if the handsome stranger was the only one able to see it, which caused a slight frustration to touch his balanced mood.

"Deprivation," he looked up at the white light, realising it was growing closer now as it softly called his name, "Deprivation, it has not been so long that you have forgotten my voice, has it?"

The leader unsheathed his sword for a moment, perhaps in preparation for a fight, though soon he dropped to one knee like a man worshipping his God. His tanned hand pressed against the splintered wooden deck, which had become worn by the feet of working sailors, and his face was directed at its abysmally dirty surface in an attempt to look dignified.

"Never would I forget the voice of the Spire's master," he said in a respectful tone, "My Lady – what is your reason for contacting me, when I know you are so busy maintaining the dear Spire?"

As if she were an angel, Theresa suddenly started to form out of the light. She floated in the distance as her legs moulded out of its strange glow, and her strange hooded face became reality from luminosity whilst the rest of her body transformed. He had never seen this before, not from any one of his Spire masters, although when he raised his head he found he was not surprised. What else could he expect from a blind, immortal seeress? If anything, he would have been shocked if there were no little tricks he had yet to witness.

"The Spire is safe, for now. I must be brief, as this manifestation is difficult to control, and I can already feel our connection breaking."

"Please, my Lady; pass your wisdom onto me."

"There are many discoveries to be made on this journey, Deprivation, and not all of them shall be welcome. Whilst you make them, three paths shall become clear to you; these are the only paths you may take, though which you choose to walk shall be yours entirely. Choose wisely, for the outcomes are all too different."

The handsome stranger raised his eyebrows before opening his mouth to speak, although he found himself quickly cut off by her own speech.

"I can simply offer you one warning; - 'The thief steals more than gold.' When the time comes, you shall understand the meaning behind this. Until you return, Deprivation."

Theresa vanished from sight. The strange white disturbance disappeared from sight, as if it had never truly been there, and the leader found himself bowing to non-existence. Was she really standing there? Or was this sea air causing hallucinations in his mind? Never before had a Spire master bent such realities to their whim, and not even Deprivation who had defied death for thousands of years could imagine such a skill. Just before he could stand, Solace appeared from the single staircase and saw his friend bowing on the floor.

"What are you doing Dep?" He asked whilst extending his hand, "Did my words make you feel worse than I first intended?"

"Do not feed your ego Solace," he laughed, propping himself up without the help offered, "Our Lady just appeared to me, from thin air, to part with me a word of warning. It was brief, it was confusing, but the Spire must have whispered this wisdom to her at some point so I must listen to it."

"What did it say, brother?"

Deprivation ran a hand through his dark hair before replying, "It warned me to be wary of Reaver."


	16. Clumsy Information

Reaver sat in his room, sipping yet another chalice of wine. There was not much to do after toying with the sailors, and the books he had originally forced Deprivation to load seemed to have lost their ever-small appeal. What was a man to do when the wine reserves were running dry? He could not suffer another tirade from Hammer, or else he ran the risk of cutting her rather large, imperfect head off. Just thinking about the action caused a smile to slowly stretch on his lips.

"Reaver, Reaver, my dear sweet man," he cooed into the mirror from his comfortable seat, "If only there were some lovelies for you to meet, a prostitute or two – I'm sure that our boredom would be non-existent if there were an interesting bedfellow on board. Come to think of it, where is Deprivation?" He smiled slightly after mentioning his name, although why was unclear. Usually he only liked to irritate the handsome stranger by way of exploitation; there was no other reason for his interest, as far as he was concerned. Garth was still chuckling in his room about their encounter at breakfast, and the immortal's jealous comments about Hammer's interest, which Reaver could slightly hear through the sturdy walls of his room.

For a moment he was forced to ponder on his apparent boredom, until the faint scuttling of a person outside caught his attention. Like a man sensing opportunity, he quickly placed his chalice upon the nearest surface and rushed for his door, in the hopes that it might have been someone vaguely interesting. And by that, he meant that he hoped Deprivation had come to do his routine check.

The immortal was disappointed this time. As he flung open his door, wearing a rather sly grin and donned with his finest waistcoat, he saw Desolation standing on the other side holding a small cup. The man's dark blue eyes shimmered with slight innocence as he jumped backwards and the cup's fizzling contents threatened to decorate the hallway's walls.

"I am sorry!" He gasped out of surprise, "I did not mean to disturb you, sir! Please, accept my apologies, and do not tell Deprivation! He would be furious at my clumsiness!" It was a want for Desolation to become like his leader, gifted with sharp honed skills and accuracy that rivalled Reaver's own; however the 'young' Spire-Guard had more than often proven his incompetence for their heritage. His brother had spent many nights going over the same routines, practising day after day with him until he perfected them, but he often fell short of expectation despite the extra help. He was glad that Deprivation had not given up on him.

"Come, come now, child – I would not be so cruel," the immortal replied as he sensed an opportunity, "My lips shall remain sealed on the matter, if you would come into my chambers and converse with me. It has been so long since I had a decent conversation, and you seem like the sort of chap who knows a lot of...interesting information."

Desolation was flattered by this. Many people often brushed him off, instead favouring to talk to his elder brothers, although he could see the odd glint in Reaver's eyes. Deprivation had warned him not too long ago to be wary of the thief, to never trust anything he said, but his words seemed so genuine that the man found himself agreeing without question. He rushed to deliver Garth's strange tonic and returned Reaver's chambers in no time at all, ready for a good conversation that he could contribute to. The immortal was not expecting such eagerness though he smiled at him whilst offering wine.

"No, thank you. Deprivation tells me that wine impairs my senses; I must remain ever vigilant," he replied in a slightly curious voice. Reaver raised his eyebrows as another grin played on his thin lips.

"Your leader had no quarrels drinking this wine," he pointed out in an innocent tone before pouring some in a second chalice, "I am sure just a drop will not do any harm, will it?"

The Spire-Guard was too naive for his own good, as he took the chalice from the thief and started to sip on it rather timidly. A strange bitter taste flooded his mouth whilst he did this, momentarily causing him to slip off task and wonder why his brother had never allowed him to drink this magnificent beverage before.

"Deprivation would be furious if he knew about this."

"That is why we are not going to tell him, isn't it?" Reaver said softly as he settled down in his own seat, "We wouldn't want you to get into trouble, now."

Desolation smiled at him before sipping on the wine again. Reaver could see he was not slightly like his leader, with milky white skin and his dark sparkling eyes, although he held some notion of beauty in his thick blonde hair. It looked as though he had taken care of the luscious locks, spent time nurturing them and cared for them greatly, when in truth it was just naturally beautiful hair.

"You must despise Deprivation's rule, since he does not allow you such pleasures."

"Not in the slightest!" the man cried in a retort, "Deprivation is a fair and just leader! He's the inherited leader of the Spire-Guards! I mean, he rules with an iron fist and there's no room for failure in his eyes, but he is my brother! We would be nothing if it were not for his rescue."

Reaver's interest suddenly perked. Desolation had foolishly mentioned 'rescue,' which led to a whole new range of discussion – the man had not been informed just how far the thief's knowledge expanded over their great order. It was a delicious set up for disaster.

"Rescue? What possible need could call for rescue, especially from such a strapping young man?" The immortal's smile and flattering words caused his guest's cheeks to flush slightly.

"When his father killed all the other Spire-Guards," he muttered as a smile played on his lips, "I was just a baby. Barely one week old, my brothers say, mewling for my mother to come and feed me. But his father had killed her by then, just when Deprivation was supposed to be finishing his final challenge."

His face faltered for a moment. A hint of sadness for the mother he never knew, maybe even a drop of regret for her loss, played on his features like a child in snow, however it soon disappeared when he took another sip of wine. Reaver absent-mindedly refilled his chalice whilst his curiousity peaked to a near-explosive point.

"A man after my own heart." Desolation could not tell if he was talking about Deprivation or his homicidal parent. "Please, do continue."

"Well, Chaos left the Spire seconds after the attack and left Dep alive. We do not know why – Solace thinks that he could not kill his son, even though he killed his life-partner – but our leader remains sound that the attack was devastating on all accounts. He does not talk about it a lot."

"A man so refined seldom talks about his own losses."

"Not even to us. That is the odd part; we are all brothers, bound together by great chains in our blood, and he chooses to remain silent on the matter. Whenever we tried to talk about it, even when we were old enough to question our current Spire master, he would grow enraged and tell us that we were too caught up with the past."

Reaver felt a tug at his heart, something familiar that he had tried so vainly to bury. It seemed that Deprivation had also hidden away memories that hurt him greatly, although at least he possessed the option to discuss them.

"Spire Master?"

"The person who controls the Spire, at that time. We are loyal to whomever taps into its great power, no matter who they may be or what they might do with it. When the Spire was destroyed many years ago Deprivation trained us in its ruin, and then we were sent into a deep sleep until it became awoken again. It was only when Lucien Fairfax rebuilt it did we ever wake up again."

"I assumed Lucien would possess the means to hire his own guard."

"He did. He watched our techniques and styles, before demeaning them unfit for his service and attempted to cast us away from our home. Our leader was infuriated, saying that without us the Spire would fall into disarray, to never grant another wish again despite its infinite power. Lucien hired his own personal guards, from people nowhere near as talented as Deprivation, and sent us down into our prisons to sleep again."

"You must have been madmen to ever agree. If I had been in your position, Lucien would have received a lovely bullet for an answer."

"Deprivation taught us to be loyal to the Spire master, so we went down and waited. And waited. It felt like thousands of years had passed when I was finally woken up – by then Theresa already controlled the Spire and was interested in having us restored to our rightful places."

The men smiled at each other as Desolation finished yet another chalice of wine. During his explanation he had already finished his second, and then his third glass, whilst the effects of the drink took over since his first. Reaver's ability to get information often involved alcohol and the weak minded.

Suddenly, a booming voice shouted from the door. The thief jumped up, gripping his Dragonstomper .48 in preparation for an attack, although he soon relaxed when he saw the tall strong figure of Deprivation storming into his room. Not even the slightly infuriated look on his face seemed to surrender some of his natural beauty.

"I am sorry! I was only checking on him, I promise!" Desolation cried before jumping out of his seat. Joy at his first drink had quickly transformed into fear, which ripped through his light features like a storm through a forest. Deprivation waved his hand for silence.

"You will go back to your duties and report to me tonight, in our chambers," he sternly barked at his teammate, "If I hear that you have avoided your work again, I shall administer swift punishment to you, do you understand me Desolation?"

As if suddenly terrified of his beloved brother, the younger man nodded and began to walk away with his head hung in shame. The light effects of alcohol still gripped his body like a feathery paw but he was too frightened of causing more anger to ever fall victim to it. His leader quickly called his name again, rushing towards him so he was out of the thief's sight for a moment, before giving him a stroke on the shoulder and whispering to eat something as he went to work. No matter what he had done, Desolation was still his family, and he vowed to protect them in every sense.

"How rude!" Reaver chuckled whilst his counterpart returned, "Do you know how hard it is to find good conversation? Your friend and I were having a lovely time, discussing matters that roused our particular interests."

Deprivation moved forward in a threatening manner, bringing his hand to the floor in a swipe motion as he growled, "You will stay away from him, thief. I do not want to catch sight of you near Desolation again, do I make myself clear?" He was protective over him, as if he were truly a father and not a trainer, which Reaver could see through the intense fire building in his emerald eyes. The flickering flame almost caused him to think off-topic.

"I was simply receiving a clear understanding," he smirked in reply, "Some more knowledge on your strange origin, Deprivation. Do you expect me to let you fall through the net? I always know every little detail about my escorts."

"I swear to you on my Spires' heart-"

"Do not attempt to threaten me; all of the intimidation you possess mean very little. And never swear on a heart, my dear man," Reaver suddenly drew a long elegant finger down Deprivation's chest, before the leader could pull away, "I have found it often yearns for the one it cannot obtain."

The stranger pulled himself back, keeping one eye on the butt of Reaver's polished weapon as he made his way back to the door. A thousand questions ran through his mind; things like, 'What does he mean by that?' and, 'Why is he touching me?' (even though he could not deny it was slightly more enjoyable than he thought) whilst he quickly exited the room. Just before he left the leader turned to face Reaver once more, with a solemn frown fixed on his handsome tanned features.

"Do not anger me any further, thief. My patience is wearing thin."

The immortal smiled whilst caressing his light face, gazing at Deprivation past his slightly hanging fringe, and replied, "I cannot wait to see the result."


	17. Uncertain Solace

Hammer felt cheated. There were no words to describe her anger, when she marvelled at Deprivation's seeming forgetfulness of his feelings for her. Now it were as if he had completely suppressed their near-embrace, instead favouring to focus his energy on keeping his men away from the thief, which meant that he often did not even speak to her when they were in the same room. How could he simply discard the memory like this? With not even a passing glance or a smile in her direction, the hero of strength was certain that what he previously felt for her had been replaced by the friction caused between himself and Reaver. The eccentric hero lived up to his title, it seemed.

One night, as they sat in silence eating their meal, she found herself struggling not to cause an argument. He sat across from her, wearing a small satisfied smile on his face despite his surroundings, whilst glancing over occasionally at her beloved with a glint in his eye. There was something there, something dancing in the depths of his irises, that warned her of his intentions. For him, the handsome stranger was another toy he had yet to play with and discard, rather than a person with his own mind and emotions. It sickened her to the core.

"Men," the heroes looked up as Deprivation rose to his feet, "Report back to our chambers before ten o'clock tonight. Desolation – you may return before nine." The leader gave his 'young' member a hard stare, as if reminding him of his delicate position at the moment, before he turned on his heels and exited out of the room. There was no farewell cast at the other table although he spared them a passing glance, which caused Reaver to furrow his brow slightly and turn to the others.

"He possesses wonderful posture, doesn't he?" the thief muttered whilst sipping on his wine, "A man with such a straight spine always holds his head high; rather like myself." It was a prompt to start a conversation, albeit not a very good one. He found himself starved for conversation that did not end in accusations or an argument, even though he would have preferred one that ended in pillow talk. The entertainment of toying with the sailors was wearing thin after two long months at sea.

"Yes, a very good posture," Garth replied, "It shows that he has been taught well, but by whom he learnt it is the question you really want to ask, is it not?" The mage thought himself too smart for Reaver's games, and often found that he over-thought everything his 'friend' said, which never ended in his favour. This occasion was no different since he had just played straight into the thief's hands.

"Far be it from me to question our guide's nobility," he chuckled evilly, making Hammer's blood boil, "If you are all content with following him blindly, so be it. I, however, will not be played the fool quite so easily."

"Of course not, because you have come so far in learning Deprivation's origin," Garth's retort brought a smile to Reaver's face. His pale, youthful features stretched upwards as his thin pink lips did, causing Solace on the other table to watch him carefully before he laughed at the man. It was only a matter of time until the thief knew every detail about his strange guide, simply the annoyance of waiting for the next opportunity stood in his way now.

"Books and scriptures will only detail boring tales," Reaver laughed as he stood and discarded his bowl of pigeon breast, "If you want the delicious truth, trickery is the method to employ." With his parting words the eccentric man wandered off, happy to spend his time combing his hair or polishing his gun, rather than waste any more energy talking to such imbeciles. What was he to do about their misguided faith? Act like a sheep, and follow the shepherd bleeting for grass? Or become the wolf, and hunt for his food amongst the shadows? Only one way suited his own personality; the predator always managed to stay on top in the wilderness.

Hammer waited until he was out of the room to groan. She bent her head down over the dinner, acting as though she was suddenly struck by an illness and clutching the back of her dreadlocked hair with thick fingers. Sparrow raised his eyebrows whilst signing that something was wrong, although Garth had already guessed she was feeling infuriated by Reaver's apparent mistrust of her beloved guide. The mage drank some water before asking her what was wrong in a comforting tone.

"He's what's wrong," she answered sorrowfully, "That stupid fool is what's wrong with me."

"I understand that he can be a bit of an annoyance, but we must be civil to him at the very least. Reaver is-"

He was cut off abruptly by Hammer hissing, "I don't give a bloody damn! Whenever he's in the room, that's all Deprivation seems to care about! None of us even get a look in anymore. He just leaves us all too it, and focuses on that pompous little arse!"

Solace suddenly looked up from his place. As one of Deprivation's most trusted men, he had more insight into his brother's feelings more than anyone, and for a moment he wondered if the hero's words possessed any measure of truth. It was a fact that the leader would now spend all his energy keeping Reaver at bay, almost obsessively so, although it did not seem like him to do such a thing...

The heroes awkwardly looked at each other. They could see that their friend was at an unknown competition with the thief for the affections of their guide, and they could not find any words to comfort her on this matter. Garth was certain that Hammer deserved the handsome stranger's hand more; however Reaver was much more skilled in the art of seduction than she was. Even if he did not know what was happening, Deprivation was being pulled into a web of attraction that only the ex-Pirate King could spin.

"Pardon me, I mean no disrespect," they looked up to see Solace standing at their, running a gloved hand through his damp hair as an expression of worry played on his face, "But I could not refrain from interjecting this discussion. I wish to give you a fair warning, into the heart of my leader."

For a moment, they did not know how to react. It seemed strange that one of the men were to approach them, especially one that was not familiar with them, although the genuine care dancing in his blue eyes told them he could be trusted. Sparrow signalled one hand down for him to continue speaking.

"Deprivation has seen much in his time, and learnt things that I can only begin to imagine," he began trying his best not to give their secrets away, "There are few feelings in his mind that he allows to surface, and even fewer that show themselves when they are expressly wanted. Ma'am – if you fear for my brother's affection towards you, I can tell you that your worries are for naught. Our emotions are many, and fickle, though laced with a certain tendency to over-think matters and strive for perfection. Do not judge him harshly, please."

With his best manners, the mystery man bowed towards them whilst waiting patiently for his dismissal. There were many times he would risk the fury of Deprivation for his own good, however he sensed that his brother would be slightly more enraged about this than the other things he had done before. It was for the sake of his sanity, though.

"What about his obsession with Reaver?! How do you explain that?"

"The thief is...different. Deprivation talks little about him in depth, but much about him in small details. I cannot comment on that which I do not know; if my leader feels something for him, than I shall support him as I would have supported him with you."

It was not the answer she wanted, but it was an answer. Garth dismissed him in a respectful manner before turning back to his friend, who was gathering her weapon and preparing to turn in for the night. She seemed more upset than comforted.

"If they don't even know, it's obvious he does." She murmured those words before storming off to her room, with glittering tears building up in her eyes. She was sure to upturn a few of Reaver's treasure on the way there, which effectively just gave Deprivation's team more work to do, although she did not care at this moment. The memory of their near-embrace seemed like a joke now, a horrible prank that he played on her to make her angry, even though that was far from the truth.

And there was still one month to go on the ship.


	18. Discussions

"My brother, may I have a word?" Deprivation turned from his work to see Solace approaching, a solemn face donned on his fine features. There had been many times when the handsome stranger saw this expression on him, none of them ever good, but he hid his confusion with a curt nod. Discarding the box full of crabs, they both wandered over to the edge of the boat and the leader waited patiently for his brother to start talking.

Charcoal grey clouds were gathering over the horizon now, since he had started working in the small hours of the morning. He admired the change in sky colour as glee rose in his chest; this was his first storm out of the Spire, and he was determined to watch every second of it go by. If only the others were as giddy as he, then maybe they would find joy in the smallest of victories. But no – instead they favoured to focus on the bad sides of life, with no thought of what made their years worth the struggles. It made Deprivation very sad to see them squander the carefree lives they lived.

"What is wrong, Solace? Are you ill? Has something happened?" The handsome leader asked after the silence droned on, "Please speak to me quickly. There is much I need to complete before the storm hits."

His friend gazed at him with affectionate eyes. Whilst he stared, his messy brown hair waved slightly in the slowly building wind and gave him the image of a wild man instead of a highly respectable Spire-Guard. Deprivation often wondered where he would have been if Solace had not survived the ancient onslaught – there would not be as much laughter in his life, should that have happened.

"I must talk to you about Hammer. The men are starting to get restless." His words came out much more quietly than he intended. The right-hand man never addressed his leader like this, with news of the men's restlessness; however the circumstances they found themselves in were any but ordinary. His brother was far more pre-occupied with keeping them all alive, rather than if his team were becoming agitated with current conditions.

"I have told you before," Deprivation sighed as he gazed down at the water's sleek, broken surface, "My feelings for Hannah do not exceed our missions calling. Completion of this task is absolutely vital – if I were to stop now, to honour my heart with an audience it craves, than I shall lose everything we have worked so hard to achieve. Come on man; you know me better than this."

The statement was true. Solace did know his friend better, and had proved it on a great many occasions, although this worked in his favour at present. Because of his knowledge, he knew that the gifted leader now felt things he had only heard about in story books.

"Of course I do, brother," he replied with a smile on his face, "If it were not for me, I think you would have gone mad years ago. But you misunderstand me on this, for I do not wish to talk about your heart's need for Hammer. Rather, I wish to talk about her, and the thief."

Deprivation's head snapped up. A look of pure rage descended over his usually calm face, pursing his lips as if the very mention of Reaver sickened him, although he simply nodded in reply. Solace hated him almost as much as he – if he forced himself to say the accursed name, it must have been important.

"Speak then," he growled, "And return to your work straight afterwards." To an untrained eye, it would seem like the leader was mad at his friend. However Solace knew that his brother had a rather fickle set of emotions, hidden deeply in the corners of his mind where he thought they would be safe. There were things he had yet to discover, even though he was four thousand years of age.

"I know that your feelings for Hammer are stuff dreams are made of. I know, deep down in your heart, that she holds some significance for you, even if you deny it. However, you have denied yourself the pleasure of her hand when you most wanted it, and now I fear that your heart wanders once more."

"What do you mean?"

Solace thought for a moment before replying airily, "The thief has a rather beautiful appearance, does he not?" Deprivation tilted his head to one side, so it brushed his shoulder lightly whilst a look of confusion flooded his tanned features.

"I suppose. For a man with no soul, his face certainly hides a Devil-like personality. I do not understand why that has any importance, my friend."

"A man gifted with such a beauty can steal even the most hardened of hearts. What we sometimes perceive as complete and utter disgust, can really be the beginnings of the purest love known to man."

Suddenly, Deprivation's eyes widened. Realisation struck him like the sting of a Cobra bite, and caused him to step backwards in disbelief at his friend's implication. What was he saying? Did the men think his heart called for Reaver now? People like the thief only repelled his affections – they did not capture them like a metaphoric net! As the two locked eyes and held a near-impenetrable stare, the skies opened overhead and poured bullet-like rain onto their strong bodies.

"Reaver is a blight on this earth; nothing more and nothing less!" the leader gasped whilst stroking his sword, "How could you even begin to think that I want his love, when I have made it so clear that I despise every aspect of him?"

Solace sighed to himself. He suspected there would be some resistance, possibly even straight denial, but it did not make this situation easier to deal with. With a comforting gaze, his brother rested a hand on the stranger's shoulder and stroked it in a calming fashion.

"Our emotions are many, Dep," he whispered with a steady voice, "And one, at the same time. You were the person who taught me this. You were the one to tell me about our rules, do you not remember? The first thing you told me as a child; 'A Spire-Guard is doomed to feel every emotion, ten-fold. Our pains will be great, and our love sweet, despite the sacrifices we are forced to make. Do not quiver, brother, for when love finally strikes you, the memory of the pain will melt. Like the ice of winter in the warmth of spring – your love shall envelope you, and your hardships will disappear.' Do you remember?"

Deprivation could remember the lesson. He could remember the warm breeze brushing against his face, caressing the features so long twisted in a sob, and he could recall the soft twittering of lost birds nesting in the Spire's ruin. All those years had passed; how could he still remember?

"Of course I do. You were a fine student."

"And you a fine teacher. But my point still stands Dep. Is there love in your heart for Reaver, and not just this hatred that you promote against him?" Solace knew the real answer, even though his brother would never admit it. The leader's expression changed for a moment before he waved his arm for silence.

"I think the sea air has been playing tricks on your mind, Solace. Go and rest in our chambers for a while, but make sure you do not fall too deeply! I may need your help again."

There was no point in arguing, so the Spire-Guard simply bowed to his leader and turned on his heels. Rain soaked his clothes all the way through now but he did not care. It would be a few days until Deprivation was willing to discuss it again, although whether he would accept the fact was another matter entirely.

"Goodnight, Dep," he called over his shoulder whilst descending the stairs, "Enjoy the storm."

His friend could not even think about the growing tempest anymore.


	19. Dead Help

Finally, something interesting happened on the ship. Reaver had spent most of that morning throwing glittering coins in the sea, watching as they sunk below the murky black surface to the dark abyss below, when he heard a cry from the other side of the boat. It was strange at first – someone was in trouble and he was not there to be the cause. Stranger things had happened, but he felt a tad put out as the screams became louder and louder, to the extent where he found himself running to see what was causing the ruckus.

It was one of the sailors, lying on the floor as if he were in pain. His brown, ragged clothing hung against him like a ripped curtain, and Reaver saw it was stained with blood all the way down to his crippled legs. Who had done this? Who was responsible for stealing some of the faint joys he had on this ship? Whoever crippled this man possessed excellent skill with a sword; Deprivation momentarily popped into the thief's head, although it was not his style to mangle an innocent man. The handsome leader preferred to openly challenge it seemed, rather than hit someone from behind and disappear.

"Reava!" The man's voice was hoarse from screaming, "Reava! Quick, please – help me up!" A smile danced on the immortal's thin pink lips, before he tapped his cane on the wooden floor beside him.

"Now why would I do that?" he asked whilst stroking back a wild lock of hair, "Your flailing on the floor like a limbless hollowman is the best entertainment I've seen in weeks! I daresay it has surpassed my previous activities of watching you brutes fight each other for a coin!"

For a moment, the sailor seemed to stare at him in disbelief. He wanted to scream, shout, anything that would alert someone who would actually help him in this situation rather than Reaver, who simply wanted to sit back and watch. But when he attempted to open his mouth, the blue-hued ribbons that were his lips fell back closed without uttering a single word. The thief watched in glee as his latest entertainment struggled to breath, and blood oozed out sluggishly from the broken beaten legs lying on the wooden board.

Soon, light began to die from his tormented green eyes. A glazed, vacant look invaded his once-beautiful irises, causing him to become little more a man than a hollow shell, before one last gasp escaped from his tiny mouth. A pity – if he were not a simple sailor, and a potential nobleman instead, Reaver might have spent half a minute alerting someone of his demise. But the thief shook his head in boredom and wandered back over to his original position, with a few glittering coins in his hands.

Desolation found the body first. Whilst the immortal continued watching his money sink, the 'young' man had ventured outside for some fresh air, instead only finding the broken corpse of the sailor lying on his favourite lookout point. Sickening knots began to form in his stomach as he gazed at him, before he found himself vomiting over the sturdy banister of the ship. Reaver turned with a smile playing on his face.

"Another victim of our King's culinary works?" he asked in his most affectionate tone, "I don't blame you for vomiting. I almost found myself doing the same when I looked at this hideous monstrosity you call a ship."

"Are you blind? Can you not see him?" gasped the Spire-Guard in-between wretching, "I have to tell Deprivation. He has to be informed of this!" Reaver noticed that the man was far more fearful than he should have been, and for a moment did not understand his anxiety, until he looked down. What he saw would stay with him for many years.

The corpse was twisted, like a rotten flower wilting in a forgotten meadow. Once-recognisable features of a man were suddenly covered by a strange, shrouding cloak of darkness; it was as if Reaver had thrown a black blanket on him after his death. Desolation's lips quivered when he looked down, and he vomited once more in the nearest wash-bucket s the image of the sailor clouded his mind.

"This is certainly unusual," the thief muttered under his breath. His Spire-Guard 'friend' stared at disbelief, wondering if Reaver ever felt surprised at death and carnage, before he came to his senses. What was he doing, standing around and being sick? Deprivation needed to see the body! His leader needed to know! There was only trouble ahead for them now.

"Dep! Dep! You have to come up here!" his screams were heard throughout the whole ship, "We have a problem! A big problem!" The leader was happily cleaning his ceremonial outfit when he heard the cries – a faint hint of annoyance fell over his mood as he thought about the heroes. Why did Desolation insist on acting like such a fool? Whilst he wandered up to the deck, to see what inane thing his youngest teammate had to show him, the handsome stranger reminded himself to give him another training session on etiquette. It would certainly make a change from the fight training.

"Yes, my brother, what is it-" Deprivation found himself struck silent. He saw the withering body in front of him, curled up as if it were a furled grass blade, and struggled to keep his lunch in place as he gazed down at it. The soup-like black coverage over his corpse made his heart leap with fear; it could not possibly be! He had not even reached the sacred land, so how could it have found them already? A gathering fear crept along his bones before he turned to Reaver.

The thief noticed a sudden spark in his emerald eyes, a slight energy that seemed to run through his already piercing irises, although he found himself unable to comment on it. Despite seeing many things in his four hundred years, this was a new occurrence, and he wanted to know what was happening. A gentleman always knew what was happening with the 'help'.

"Did you see him being attacked?" the question was more like an accusation; however Reaver was prepared for his little game.

"Alas, no. I was having my own fun, over there."

"You must have been in the area then. How could you not have heard?"

"Did it ever occur to you, that I might not have been interested?"

"You...nevermind then. Please, go to your rooms until we have cleared up the body and prepared him for a decent burial," the leader gestured towards the steps, although he knew that Reaver would not leave that easily. For a brief second he found himself thinking back to his conversation, and the points that Solace had brought forward. Was there something to this whole thing? Or was he really just full of hate for the slim bodied thief?

"And what makes you think I will be so easily commanded?"

"I would not want to get blood on your lovely, expensive clothing," Deprivation raised his eyebrows with a manufactured smile playing on his tanned features, "So I suggest you are out of the vicinity, as not to risk it. An excellent idea, surely?"

Reaver narrowed his eyes at him, before giving him a sharp nod and moving towards the descending stairs. The broken, bleeding body's memory played in his mind like a play as he travelled down to his accommodation, but he did not think about that now.

He could not help but notice, that Deprivation had become much calmer speaking to him.


	20. The Crawler Can

The burial was short. It consisted of a few ancient hymns, one tiny eulogy from the deceased's closet friend, and an honourable cast-off into the murky black sea in a makeshift coffin. Deprivation had made sure that his withered face could not be seen by the other sailors, in case it scared them into fleeing. He needed all the hands he could get.

Afterwards, the leader sat in his room with a large bottle of wine. Bitter tastes swirled in his mouth as he drank his sorrows away, in the hopes that his flawless memory would somehow fail him, although it only succeeded in making his thoughts swim. He could feel a familiar tingling on a mad rampage through his legs, which made the handsome stranger sigh in exasperation. Why could he not find peace in a bottle? Ancient stories told of great men, who found their comfort at the bottom of a green container, rather than in training their skills to perfection. So was he not a great man, to find nothing when drinking?

"You do not often drink, brother," Deprivation looked up to see Solace approaching him, wearing a solemn expression on his face, "There must be something on your mind. May I hazard a guess?" There was no point in arguing with him, even though the stranger could already tell what he thought. Manufactured smiles played on his tanned face in a poor attempt to make himself seem happier.

"Of course you can, Solace. If anyone were to guess my problems, it would be you." More a plea to be left alone, it fell on deaf ears as his friend stared into the leader's piercing emerald eyes. A strong trust passed between them, like the bolt of lightning in a blackened sky, and he smiled without realising.

"The Crawler shall not kill us tonight," the Spire-Guard eventually muttered, "Or on any other night, if I know a coward's methods. He will wait to pick off the weak, and we are not weak. We are the protectors of the Spire, Deprivation! No one can kill us." His words were laced with a fierce determination; however his eyes danced with an uncertainty that his leader knew well. There was a fear in his heart, one that showed how much faith he was putting in the blue-tunic man.

But Deprivation could not think straight. The alcohol running through his veins blocked the natural leader instinct, rendering his words useless to comfort his friend. Instead, he found himself involuntarily sighing, "The Crawler can."

Solace froze. For a moment, he wondered if he heard correctly, although he knew the expression on his friend's face. A mix of anger, hatred, sorrow – it was something that played on his tanned features whenever he awoke from a bad dream. A cocktail of the worst emotions ever to plague a man's mood.

"Only another Spire-Guard can kill us, my brother. I think you have drunk too much."

"Do not insult me, Solace. I am well-versed in the rules of being a Spire-Guard; the gift of immortality, the gift of only one sexual partner for your years, the gift of loyalty through the blood-chains...but the Crawler owns these talents as well. They have been given to him through blood, the very same that runs through my veins right now!"

Instantly, a silence fell upon the chambers. Deprivation's piercing emerald eyes smouldered with a great rage, something that was very rare for him, and he got up off the rickety chair in anger.

Solace thought carefully before muttering, "When were you planning to tell me?"

"I was not. Why would I ever talk about that?"

"How dare you keep a secret from your men! You, who told us honesty was the very cornerstone of our great society!" Solace's shouts could not be heard on deck, but the Spire-Guards felt an uneasy feeling growing in their stomachs. Desolation wondered for a moment if he should check on the leader; however one of his friends kept the 'young' man in their sights.

"I had no choice! How could I face the men and tell them about the horror? How do you expect me to strike such terror in their hearts, when we are so far away from our beloved Spire?! I am a Spire-Leader – my actions do not need justification!" Deprivation's shout echoed through the chambers, causing his friend to pull his head back in shock. He had never heard his usually cool-tempered leader shout; it was truly a terrifying thing to behold.

Solace turned after that. A single tear escaped down his face, as if it were rebelling against his angry emotions, and he wiped it away in frustration. Anger and betrayal were the chief feelings right now, even though a burning love for his brother ripped through his chest like a forest fire. He understood that this must have been such a shameful burden weighing down on the handsome stranger's shoulders.

"You are my family, Deprivation," he eventually choked out, "And I will support you no matter what you choose. However, remember that you have a duty to us as Spire-Guards, and I know that you shall decide upon the right thing to do. We will not judge you; we are your brothers."

For a brief moment, the leader felt as though he was going to crumble. The greatest shame he had over his head, a great tragedy in his life that he had tried for years to forget, was now out in the open. How could Solace act as if that meant nothing? How could the remaining Spire-Guards face this, if they knew what the Crawler truly was? He turned to his friend, putting the near-empty wine bottle on an old box before stepping up to him. His eyes were narrowed now, so that Solace could only see the distinctive smouldering green irises.

"You are my greatest friend. Ever since I saved you from death in the nursery, and watched as you completed your training with the highest marks, I knew that you were going to be the bane of my life," a small humorous smile ran through his tanned face, whilst he put a hand on his friend's shoulder, "Of all the men it could be, I am glad that it is you."

Solace smiled and, with a gentle kiss on Deprivation's forehead, he replied, "And I am proud to be one of your men."


	21. Brotherly Love

Solace was wandering through the halls that night. After the strained conversation with his leader, he felt a strange need to explore the ship that had been his home for the past two months. No set task floated in his ever-vigilant mind; there was simply the urge to relax, controlling his actions as he admired the beautiful cravings inflicting the sturdy wooden walls. There were twittering birds, a few jumping mackerel and even a wonderfully proportioned sun, which shone down in its chipped glory on the little wooden creations. It must have been a labour to engrave such menial pictures on a wall, one that would never be admired by a man of art.

Suddenly, an idea sparked in his mind. If he had been a sane man, the Spire-Guard would never dream about going through with it, but as his feet trundled towards the place he knew that there was no turning back. Why would he want to? He was often told by Deprivation that his father had been quite headstrong – what better way to honour his memory, than by doing what he would in these situations? The thought of his deceased parent brought a flickering smile to his lips, although no playful memories were dancing in his mind.

A large, heavy door sat in front of him, whilst his hands trembled at his sides. Never before had he gone behind his leader's back, and never before had he thought it would do his friend any good; however, the circumstances they found themselves in were anything but ordinary. If he were in the Spire right now, surrounded by his thousands of books and scrolls, than these thoughts would never cross his mind. But life was full of surprises, even for a man who could defy death.

After knocking on the entrance, he waited patiently for an answer. Thuds sounded on the other side, followed by a rather well-strung line of profanity, before it slowly creaked open and revealed the person he had been looking for. A solemn frown descended on his milky white features whilst he clenched his fists.

"Ah, hello there!" Reaver's voice was cheerful, despite his slightly obvious surprise lining his youthful face, "Might I say, this certainly is a welcome surprise. I was just telling myself that I needed one of the glorified fashion disasters, hammering away on my door and waking me up from my beauty sleep."

Almost as if he had not heard him, the Spire-Guard pushed the thief aside and walked into the wonderfully furnished room. He had never seen so many pointless pieces of furniture in one place, although he was hardly surprised when he thought about Deprivation's speeches about Reaver.

"Sarcasm. Interesting. I would have thought men of your standard would not sink to such...primitive uses of their language," it was a jab at the immortal's intelligence, albeit not an opening for an argument, "I have come here tonight to speak on behalf of my leader."

"Oh, joy," replied the thief, "And why could your leader not deliver his message in person, at a reasonable hour?" Solace admired the immortal's appearance. He was truly a beautiful man, with thin pink lips and a youthful white face, completed by an odd little heart tattoo at the corner of his eye. The Spire-Guard had never been an avid fan of arrogant personalities but, if he found himself lost for choice, he could have settled quite happily in the arms of Reaver.

"If Deprivation were to know I was here now, then I would find myself at the end of a severe punishment."

"I see. So, you are here without reason, and have simply succeeded in disturbing my sleep? Do you realise how much power I possess on this ship? You could find yourself strung up on the mast!"

"Be silent," it was a command, an order; Reaver felt a small smile flickering on his face before Solace continued, "There is no power you have that outmatches my own. I come here purely for the love of my brother – I have no interest in your sleeping patterns or your comfort, despite the fact that Deprivation orders me to attend to it."

Both of the men were quiet for a moment. They gazed into each other's eyes, in a staring contest that seemed to fire pure energy, until the thief quickly grabbed his gun and cocked it for the man's head. Solace flinched slightly; he could feel pain ten times greater than any normal person, and one gunshot wound could mean the most intense agony he would experience in his whole life. Reaver saw this momentary lapse, which caused a large smile to stretch on his face.

"What a delightful turn of events," the immortal chuckled whilst flicking his wild hair back, "A man with no fear, trembling at the barrel of my gun. Tell me, what does it feel like to feel nothing?"

The Spire-Guard laughed before replying, "You are a fool. If you truly knew about the Spire-Guards, then you would know how deeply emotions run in our bloodline. Just because we hide them behind our amazing and unique skills, does not mean that they do not exist."

"My gosh, such a predictable answer! If it were not an utter waste of bullets, you would find a lovely hole where your eye used to be," Reaver gingerly placed his gun back on the stand, before turning back with a sly smile on his face. "My dear man, I understand your worries; Deprivation is certainly a mystery character, and to have him as a leader must be quite the trial."

"Do not speak of things you do not know. I would never think badly of my leader, especially not one as honourable as him. My loyalty to Deprivation is absolute!"

"And yet, you're standing here with me."

Solace was unsure how to respond. Reaver was unique, different, and with an advanced mind dedicated to playing games. It would take all of the Spire-Guard's strength not to let any of their precious secrets slip past his quivering lips.

"My presence here is solely for the good of Deprivation. I may only be one of the team, and he may be a great leader, but in my heart he is nothing more than my brother. And we take family matters as one."

"What family matter could possibly involve me? And, more importantly, why should I care?"

The mystery man put his hands behind his back, swaying slightly from side to side as he started to think about his position. Maybe he was wrong to come here? Maybe nothing good would come of this? It was too late to turn tail and run now.

"My brother feels the sting of a million emotions," he started with a slight quiver in his voice, "Hatred, anger, shame...love. Because of his tendency to lead with no emotion, aside from pride and confidence, we often forget that he is capable of the strongest we have ever known. And he finds, on more than one occasion, that he cannot differentiate love...from hatred."

Reaver raised an eyebrow. He had long admired Deprivation's apparent dislike of him, taking it as more a challenge than anything else; however what Solace brought forth to him was entirely different. If the leader could not tell head or tail of his feelings, maybe that would make them easier to manipulate to the immortal's whim? Thousands of thoughts ran rampant in his head, as if they were celebrating the chance to control Deprivation through his emotions.

"Whilst there is no doubt in my mind of this topic's importance, I simply must insist we discard it for tonight. My beauty sleep is my utmost priority, you understand." Solace narrowed his eyes and, with a quick gesture towards his sword, he replied in a menacing voice.

"If you toy with my brother, then I shall spill your blood all over the deck. I hope we have reached an understanding, sir. Goodnight."

He started walking away, back towards the door whilst he felt a satisfied smile stretching slowly on his face. Solace had not knowingly let anything slip – at least, not anything in reference to the Spire-Guards – and he felt the need to celebrate with a slice of bread from the kitchen. Just as he began to exit, however, he heard the voice of Reaver calling from his room.

"Don't fret now, my dear man," the immortal yelled as he sipped on a chalice of wine, "Your brother shall be in excellent hands. I find a challenge somewhat thrilling!"


	22. Peace through Difference

Deprivation looked over the edge of his ship, gazing at the sandy islands in front of them. He could feel claws of anxiety ripping away in his stomach, as if he had swallowed a rabid cat, whilst the whispering isles stood solidly on a baby pink horizon. How could he face this creature now? After seeing what it could do, what sort of powers it wielded at its fingertips...he was not sure if his nerve would hold fast this time. But he had promised his men.

He would bring the Crawler down, one way or another.

"Dep?" the leader turned to see Desolation standing beside him, clutching a tiny basket of flowers to his chest with eyes as wide as saucers. A small smile flickered on the stranger's lips; his 'young' brother looked so innocent. "Is that the place? Is Crawler waiting for us there?"

Deprivation sighed under his breath before replying, "Yes, it is." He could see a shiver run up the Spire-Guard's spine, which caused his little basket to quiver, whilst his teeth chattered behind his pink lips. The leader stroked his hair slightly to calm his nerves – he understood how terrifying these situations could be.

"When are we expected to arrive?"

"Tonight, brother. Do not fret now, for I shall sway its inhabitants into welcoming us. It may take us a few days of hard labour, nothing that we are not accustomed, and then our mission shall be in its final stages. Do you have faith in me?" The handsome stranger had hoped it would be more a rhetorical question, but his heart filled with pride as his young friend nodded his golden-crested head. Despite all of his downfalls, Desolation always meant well, and the innocence sparkling in his eyes was going to be something Deprivation missed after this.

When the man scuttled away, off to deliver his flowers to their owner, the leader turned back to gaze at the isles. They were whispering with ancient secrets, ones that gently caressed his ears like a temptress, and caused him to lean forward in an attempt to make sense of it. What kind of customs would he find there? Would the inhabitants be hospitable such as in Albion, or would he come against some guards? What sorts of labours would his men struggle with, if they were required to do so? These questions circled in his mind as the shimmering new land enticed his boat further towards its golden surface. If only he knew the name of this place; many books must have been written about the secrets locked away in its history.

Finally, he grew tired of gazing at it. There was work to be done and tasks to complete, even when their destination loomed so closely, and he was not the type of leader to procrastinate. Whatever hid in the corners of this place would still be available for study after his duties had been dealt with.

And so, for a few hours, he busied himself with any inane thing that needed doing. There were a few ridiculous requests, obviously put in by Reaver on a boredom induced misery-plot; however aside from those his tasks were quite simple and straight-forward. A few were so boring though that he found himself fantasizing about his upcoming battles, and planning carefully just how he would kill the enemies that presented themselves. He even considered using a firearm, although the idea was quickly discarded when a shiver crept along his spine.

"My, my," just as Deprivation set another box against the ship's banister, the familiar voice of Reaver floated to his ear, "So close to our destination, and yet you have chosen to bore yourself senseless! I must say, a labourer's natural, sweat-covered glow certainly suits you. Not many can look so dashing when their faces are coated by perspiration." Although it was also an insult, the leader could not help a slight flattering blush stroking his cheeks. The scarlet colour only caused his eyes to become more piercing, more fiery – a change that Reaver's expert eyes noticed quickly.

"A day's work is not complete simply because the end is near," he replied whilst wiping a sleeve over his forehead, "If my men took that attitude, than many of your tasks would not have been dealt with. The fish-memorial piece that you requested; is it to your standard?"

"That drab thing? Oh no, I thought it would find greater appreciation on the ocean floor, so I shot it to pieces for safe delivery." Deprivation gritted his teeth, although he kept his annoyance hidden, "However I did enjoy the lovely flora basket that your young friend brought to my chambers. From a secret admirer, I hope?"

The leader shrugged his shoulders, mostly because he did not care rather than he did not know the answer, and replied in a low voice, "I do not have knowledge of the flower basket. I assumed that Desolation was delivering it to Hannah, although I am sorry that I did not ask him for the information. On my honour, I assure you that the mistake shall not be repeated."

"Don't strain yourself now, Deprivation! We're all counting on you for our safe delivery into Aurora; what would we do if you were to drop dead from exhaustion?"

"Do not fear, thief, for I shall...excuse me, did you call this place Aurora? How do you know-" He was quickly cut off by the immortal's soft chuckling, which lightly highlighted his youthful features.

"I spent most of my evening studying some of my reading materials, and found some very intriguing entries about a sandy isle, filled with all sorts of hidden lovelies. What better way to catch a man's attention, rather than mentioning ancient jewels and crowns?" Reaver smiled at him suggestively, although by this point Deprivation was uninterested. He questioned the thief further until he had at least a scraping of the knowledge he possessed, and his tanned features even stretched in a genuine smile for his usually infuriating counterpart.

"I would never have thought you would be interested in these subjects," he admitted shyly as they watched the ocean slowly bubble past, "You seem a man more interested in gold, and disregarding of anything else."

"Contrary to popular belief, I do enjoy the occasional deviation from gold," he looked up with a smile, "I have been known to...entertain guests at rather exclusive parties. If, upon returning home, you find yourself otherwise liberated, maybe you would like to be my guest of honour at one such event?" The leader let a small smile flicker to his lips; for a moment, Reaver thought he might have agreed, though he soon shook his head with a hint of regret lining his features.

"On return, I must go back to my Spire and watch over my Lady. I am never liberated from my duty, nor do I ever want to be - my home is where I lay my sword, and the Spire has served me for four thousand years." The frustrations that Reaver knew his secret seemed to almost melt away as they had this discussion and, for a brief moment, Deprivation thought he could have shared anything with the man. It was his common sense that stopped him from opening his mouth again.

"A pity. Your presence would be sure to rile some of my rowdier guests. Enlighten me for a moment; what things could make you leave the Spire, if you were sure to never find them there?"

The leader stopped for a second, pondering on the question. He had never been faced with a choice before, one that could alter his opinion of his beloved home, but the possibility that something greater would present itself somehow appeal to him. Reaver was beginning to become impatient before he replied, "Love."

"A cliché choice. I would've thought you already possessed that."

"Of course I do. My brothers are, and always will be, the ideal sources of love. However, I would be blessed for a thousand more years if I could find one such person to spend my life with. Even...if I were to watch them die..." his eyes went distant for a moment. It had always been a worry for him, that he would never find a love that could live as long as he, and the thought of watching his chosen age and die was heartbreaking. He could imagine shedding thousands of tears at her demise, especially if she never birthed a child fit for the Spire-Guards. What sort of life could he have, when it was to be lived as a single unit?

He dreamt of the day he could love freely, with no fear of death clutching either of their hearts.

Reaver felt familiarity touch his heart. The image of Victoria's dead body flashed in his mind, as if it were a taunt of his loss, and he struggled to keep his face looking indifferent. Immortality was a burden sometimes – even when he could have a hundred lovers, there was not one who would ever match his sweet Victoria.

And so, for that moment, both men simply gazed out at the ocean. It lapped gently at their vessel, swishing with a soft noise that calmed their fiery souls, whilst Reaver noticed Deprivation's soft change in face. From where the sun fell across his tanned features, it looked as though he was mourning a loss he had never experienced.

But despite this, the peace was overwhelming.


	23. Welcome Arrivals

When the sun had started its daily descent, Deprivation's boat docked into port. The fine wooden vessel seemed to almost squeal in protest as its anchor embedded into the seafloor, and a small crowd of Aurorans began to gather on their quiet docks. The leader stared down at their faces, each one moulded in a different manner, which gave them all a sense of individuality despite their similar outfits. He smirked slightly as he gazed; did people see his team like this? The same, though different? It was fun to ponder on the unknowable sometimes, even if there would never be a definitive answer.

"I thought the Albion citizens wore strange garments," commented Solace, who stood solidly next to his brother, "Never before have we seen such odd frocks, am I correct? If there is an almighty creator in the light, there must have been very little discussion on how he chose to clothe his people." A rebellious smile stretched across Deprivation's face, threatening to release a small bout of laughter from his lips, until he gained control of his muscles again and started to regain composure. His friend had always managed to make him laugh, even when he was so focused on the task at hand. It was a good quality to possess.

The Aurorans were now chattering among themselves. In the few short seconds their visitors had been distracted, several rumours already began to surface above the sea of confusion. As the massive ship rocked gently on the lap of the ocean's waves, the Spire-Leader glanced at all of his team and they formed into organised positions. It caused the deck to somehow look tidier, with them all standing so closely together, as if they were particles in a solid.

"Men, remember your training," Deprivation whispered whilst the sailors started to prepare for unloading, "Keep silent, but converse. Do not give away our secrets. Remain loyal to our Spire, and to our Lady. Above all, my brothers; keep your minds focused on our tasks, or else we shall find naught but failure." They nodded at him, although their memories were burnt with the instructions.

Desolation was nervous. He had never been out of the Spire, not even to look at the sea which so viciously battered against it, and to be presented with new people now was frightening. What if he found something difficult to handle? What if his Spire-Guard training became useless, ineffective? What would Deprivation say if he could not fight against an unknown enemy? These questions slammed mercilessly into his mind whilst his hand tenderly stroked the base of his sword. That was rusted now, since he could not take care of his weapons properly; however the leader insisted he could still use it until they found a suitable replacement. That was two hundred years ago – the hope for a brand new weapon had long since died out in his head.

All was silent, before Solace finally said, "My brother, I suggest that we are the first to make an approach. If my studies on human nature are worth the time I have spent, than we should remember how a man will only recognise a friend, when a hand is extended towards him."

"There is a rather humorous truth behind that!" Deprivation jumped slightly, only relaxing when he saw the youthful face of the thief appearing at the stairs. Reaver had donned brand new attire, which glistened a dazzling ruby red in the fiery sunset, and his hair was combed in yet another different hairstyle under his tall top-hat. A smile crossed the stranger's face; ever since Solace brought forth that argument of his true feelings, he found that his hatred had subsided somewhat.

"No one bloody cares," the coarse voice belonged to Hammer, who the leader had not noticed ascending the stairs. He felt a slight tug of guilt – not long ago he would have been vying for her attention, and now he did not notice when the hero was in the area.

"I am quite interested in hearing the tale," Solace muttered with a quick glance towards his brother, "Please continue, Sir Reaver." The thief gazed triumphantly at his 'friend', a mischievous glint dancing in his eye, before he opened his mouth to speak.

"When I was a rambunctious young rascal, barely wielding my first firearm, there was a custom among the common rabble. If someone were to approach without his hand extended, it was understood he was attempting to conceal a weapon, and the brute would be gunned down without a second thought. It quickly fell out of practise however, as most good things do. How I wish it had been kept up; there are hardly any decent duels these days."

Reaver's lips toyed with an almost reminiscent smile, letting it fall when he gazed down at the Aurorans. The small crowd had quickly grown into a near royal gathering, bringing almost all of their friends and family to admire the strange vessel, and allowing their children to smudge the sides with their grubby fingers. He winced slightly whilst wondering what attraction being a parent possessed.

"Interesting fact. I am sure that this knowledge shall aid my studies when I return home," Solace ran a hand through his hair, as he watched Reaver with a manufactured smile; "To understand a man's homicidal behaviour is masterful, in all aspects. I assume you find no trouble."

Before the immortal could retort, Garth cut in with a strong voice, "Ah, Deprivation – it is very rare to find someone who keeps true to their words. We encountered little resistance here, did we not? I'm glad I put my faith in you." The leader felt warm pride at his words, heightened when the mage's face was lifted by a smile, although he tried his best not to let it show. Some of his team noticed a slight change in his face (and Reaver did as well) which caused a hushed mumble to pass through them.

After a quick briefing, in which Deprivation explained their rather tenuous position, the Spire-Guards formed behind their leader and began to respectfully descend on to the dock. As soon as Desolation felt the solid ground under his feet, the 'young' man wanted to cry out in absolute joy. Finally, the maddening rock of the ship was over, and he could now feel the earth under his feet with its agonisingly slow spinning. It was so slow in fact, that he could hardly register it as the team moved in synchronisation towards the Aurorans.

"Who are you?" Deprivation stared to see a young man standing before him. He was clad in a strange, sand-coloured robe that was decorated with dull blue beads, and an oddly proportioned amulet hung down graciously from his neck like a baby to its mother. The leader smiled although he truly wanted to smirk.

"Warm greetings to you," the stranger said as he took a respectful bow, "And I commend you on the beauty of your isle. Never before have I laid eyes on such a marvellous, natural form. I must ask you though, if it does not offend you, that we might speak with your leader before discussing matters with others."

"The High Priestess went out to look for flowers. That was a week ago. Do you really think I'm going to let you go without an explanation?" This man was not threatening even though he tried to be. The crowd parted for him, allowing some hint of authority to be gifted, but Deprivation kept his ground.

"I am not opposed to keeping my men on board my ship. I shall only discuss the news with the Priestess – I am sorry if this does not sit well in your mind, but this is of the greatest importance."

The Auroran, obviously furious, snapped his fingers to his men before yelling, "No one talks to me like that. You think that we're all stupid? I've seen people like you before, coming here with your weird clothes and customs, trying to take our gems for yourself. I won't have it anymore!" The mystery men found themselves suddenly surrounded by a dozen curved swords, and each of them grabbed their trusty weapons in preparations for a battle. Even Deprivation crouched slightly as he gripped his trusty sword, eyes directed onto the man in front of him as if he were about to strike.

"I have no interest in your gems," he muttered, "There are many things that reside in your land, and one of them has become increasingly important to my men and I. Keep your jewels, please; just allow my people our right to complete our own tasks. We shall not become a labour for you. As you can see, we are quite capable to take care of ourselves."

At the moment he spoke, every man turned out with their sword and disarmed the people around them. It was quick, effective – not many of the Aurorans expected it; some even jumped backwards out of shock whilst the Spire-Guards held the tips of the swords to each man's throat.

The man thought carefully before saying, "Alright, fine. I'll go and get our second High Priestess, and she can deal with you. Drop your weapons!"

Deprivation frowned as he signalled to his men. He realised that it would be impossible to talk to anyone else, with their High Priestess out of the strange sand village, so the leader quickly decided to compromise. The Spire-Guards sheathed their weapons, although they kept one eye on their counterparts.

"Is there a problem?" Reaver called from the ship, a mischievous smile dancing on his youthful face. The handsome stranger did not bother to turn around, but only because he could feel a smirk stretching on his lips and he did not want to encourage the immortal. There was going to be some trouble on their path, it seemed.

This would only make his mission harder.


	24. I Give my Word

Deprivation was respectfully sitting in the temple of the Aurorans. It was large, spacious, although oddly shaped and sculpted from a seemingly soft mixture of clay. If the leader had the time, or the interest, he would have offered for his men to perfect its disproportion, even though the people seemed more than happy with it. Big displays of flowers and pots decorated the slightly raised ledges, which themselves were adjourned with beautiful tapestries, and he found himself gazing at them in wonderment as the Priestess continued to speak.

"We rarely get visitors in Aurora. It's even rarer that these visitors bring such promise with them, such fire in their bellies, and vow to clean such a foul odour in our land," she was babbling though Deprivation found it hard to listen, "I suspect that you wish for some sort of payment? I can tell you now, we have little money, but we would happily bless your teammates upon return. The light of our people will follow you for the rest of your days; it is much more fulfilling than a few shining trinkets."

She was eager to make any deal with the stranger. It had been a long time since someone had brought such mystery to her life and, since her days in the temple were often filled with lonely worship, the Priestess was happy for a slightly more interesting conversation. Deprivation's piercing green eyes searched her slightly wrinkled face for a moment, on the hunt for any sense of sarcasm; however he was pleasantly surprised to find none.

"I would ask that you kept your blessings and trinkets," he replied in a calm, even tone, "For my men and I do not believe in such ideals. You understand that I mean no offence – we are simply born to different beliefs, which I have attempted to keep in the heart of my team for many years. There is no payment required for our services, ma'am; all I ask is, for tonight, that we might find shelter in your village, and we shall repay our debt in the form of manual labour."

Now it was the Priestess' turn to watch his face. The tanned features kept their stony positions, never wavering from the places they were set, however she could see a light flicker dancing in the fires of his irises. When she gazed into the deep depths she found herself almost mesmerised, lured in by the trap that was Deprivation's handsomeness, although the leader was quick to draw her attention back to earth. He coughed slightly and held a hand to his mouth, looking at her with discomfort.

She shook her head rapidly before saying, "I find this hard to believe. There have been many to promise these things, you see, but they have always asked for something in return. My High Priestess has turned hundreds away when they wanted riches and gemstones, sometimes even the maidenheads of our women, whereas if she were here now, she would probably turn you away for dishonesty. What men would risk their hides so gravely, yet want nothing for their sacrifice?"

The blue-tunic leader stood up after she spoke. The Priestess watched as he wandered around the little room, gazing at different legendary dyes that surrounded them, and wondered for a moment if she should ask him to leave. However it was so rarely that she received a visitor, she did not want to see him go until he absolutely had to. And so far she had no reason to show him intolerance.

"They have been trained to believe in sacrifice," Deprivation finally started to explain, "We have all had the knowledge ingrained in our minds, that sacrifice will ultimately lead to our destiny. Our home is far from this land – a place you cannot know – and it whispers to us about the Crawler. It tells our Lady that he must perish, so that all good can thrive again, in both Albion and Aurora. I ask you not to understand our position in this, or why we have travelled so far for people we do not know; I simply request that we receive some shelter, a place to rest our heads before the final part of our journey, and that in return you shall receive capable help for your chores. I implore you, ma'am, to think of the ships' crew who have not eaten properly since the last full moon. They have families waiting for them, and to bring them home dead would be the greatest loss I could think of."

He was appealing to her sense of humanity now. There was no love in his heart for this hot desert, nothing attracting him to the disgusting sun-baked houses, although he had promised his Lady that the mission would be completed. If the leader had to stoop so low just to get what he needed, than that was what would happen.

The High Priestess' face faltered. Soft wrinkles around her eye sockets appeared, which had been weathered into her features by the harsh sun, and many more stretched across her mouth as she pondered on his words. Never before had someone so poetic, so beautiful that it was almost a crime, spoken to her with such passion in his words. Even whilst she was thinking about her choices, ever-soft hints of emotions scored across his evenly tanned skin and pulled her into his charming spell.

Finally, a weak voice whimpered from her lips, "I suppose my superior would find no problem, so long as you keep to your word. But, I must have the names of your teammates, so that I have a record of your stay in the innkeeper's log books. It is only fair, stranger." It was more a clever ruse, thought up in an instant by her to know his name, which the leader quickly saw through. A light emotion of glee flushed across her face after she had asked; it was so tell-tale that he almost found himself chuckling.

"My men's names, in order of their training, are; - Solace, Absolution, Enragement, Despair, Fury, Torment, Enjoyment, Anxiety, and Desolation," he counted on his fingers to show her the nine men, maybe with a thought that she would believe him more, although she was more interested in their strange names. Many were cursed with such labels that she would have accused their parents of being cruel; it was only the handsome stranger's calm face that kept her from growing enraged.

"And what of your name?" Her face played with wonderment as she spoke, "I am called Penelope." The leader flashed her a smile, taking her dark hand in his to respectfully kiss it. If anyone were to see this, they would have probably considered it flirtation, though nothing was further from his mind.

"Deprivation," he replied, "And as the leader, I would ask that you refer all problems with my men directly to me. The heroes shall be with us as well for the journey – their comfort is crucial to our mission, you understand."

After feeling his ribbon-soft lips against her hot skin, Penelope was barely interested in his words. It seemed that the Spire-Leader, although completely uninterested in the skill, possessed a natural talent for wooing unsuspecting civilians. Even those who dedicated their whole lives to celibacy.

"Of course; they will receive the utmost respect from our people," she sighed whilst he released her hand, and turned back to the archway door, "I have one request of you, a task that shall fully repay your debt, should you honestly wish to keep to your promises."

"Yes, ma'am."

"My superior is due for return tomorrow, and there is an annual celebration for the picking of the rare flowers. The dyes around us, you see, are ceremonial, only made from these plants as their petals alone are sufficient colours. We have a great gathering of all our people to celebrate the new dyes being made."

Deprivation tilted his head before asking, "Yes, ma'am. Your people have interesting traditions, I understand, but I must query on how this repays our debt to you."

"Simple. I ask that you help set up the decorations and the stalls for refreshments, and then I hope you would attend the gathering as a guest of honour. This invitation extends to all your friends, hero or crew."

He smiled for a moment. Great sparks of hope crackled in her eyes, so many that he would have been blind not to see them, although he was pondering on declining the offer. He did not want to stay for longer than he was required to for fear it would risk their safety; what sort of leader would he be if they were all caught off-guard? Though, it was impossible for a Spire-Guard to not be battle-ready...

"Certainly, Ms. Penelope. My men and I shall be honoured to attend such a meaningful celebration, and even more so to help you prepare for it. I shall go and inform them now – they shall be ready for duty at dawn." With those words, Deprivation left the High Priestess by herself. She watched as his neatly cropped head disappeared from view, even scrambling to see him exiting the building, so she could make sure he had truly left. His long legs stopped only for a second to admire the floral arrangements and Holy tapestries, before they set up their strides again to go and see his even stranger team. Her face stretched in a smile.

It made her joyful to know such men existed, with airs of mystery that were covered by an almost bewitching respect. His handsome features had nothing to do with his attraction, though they were a big appeal to many other ladies he met over the years. For Penelope, it was the simple fact that the leader was so calm, so knowing, and put her mind at ease even when he told her absolutely nothing of the situation. She did not know what he would do on his search for the Crawler.

But she knew that he would not go back on his word.


	25. Exotic Nights

Reaver was admiring some of the local wildlife that night. A few strange, nocturnal birds flew over head, dancing amongst the indigo belt studded with diamond-stars, and the immortal found himself almost at peace in this land. What hidden treasures did it hold within its sands? What caverns had yet to be explored? What sorts of enemies could he loot, as their fresh corpses lay on the ground in a pool of their own blood? It might have been worth going for an extended walk, if he were not being watched by one of Deprivation's men.

The 'young' man – Despair, if Reaver could recall – thought that he was stealthily sneaking behind his target. Although his footsteps were well-placed and the beat of a butterfly's wings would be louder, the ex-Pirate King heard his soft pats like they were screaming thunder claps. Great anthills in the sand tumbled to the earth, killing thousands of their little ant-worshippers, whilst the Spire-Guard continued to quietly tiptoe behind, one hand clasped on his sword's polished handle. If Reaver were to turn around, he would be able to see a glint in two sapphire eyes; sometimes, it was a wonder if Deprivation's were truly the most beautiful irises.

An hour passed, and still the immortal continued to walk. He took a leisurely walk through a small frozen garden, of which he admired the oddly proportioned flowers poking their heads out of the ground in defiance of poor soil. At one point in his life, centuries ago, Reaver would have counted himself among the green-fingered men of Albion, although over time he found the skill had been lost. Why would he have continued planting tulips when he could have been slaying Pirate Kings? The latter was certainly the most interesting...

It was as the eccentric hero thought these things that he noticed Despair was no longer following him. Thinking he could have grown weary, bored, Reaver assumed that the Spire-Guard had simply left for his own accommodation in the local inn. After all it had been an exceptionally long day, what with their unloading of his personal belongings and the dreadful incident with a rabid dog. Only an insane fool would attempt to stay awake.

This left him with some time to think. It was not rare that he had these occasions; in fact, as of late, his days were often filled with large gaps which he was forced to fill with some of this 'down time'. There was simply not enough work he had to do to keep him busy, since all of his employees were terrified about meeting their fates. More often than not, Reaver had been forced to eradicate some of the more inadequate labourers. What was circling in the depths of his mind today? What thoughts required his immediate attention, and why were they there in the first place? These questions often bored the immortal – he was not a fan of cluelessness, as he had so often proven before.

Albion was filled with it these days. People were as uninformed as they had ever been, usually scraping the bottom of the barrel just for a hint of knowledge they could not possess, which caused Reaver to smile absent-mindedly. When he admired the skirmishes on the street, no matter how rare they were in this bright era, he found a strange blood-lust rising in his gut. There was no secret about his ruthlessness amongst the peasant-folk, nor were there secrets about his cruelty for pleasure; however the immortal found it difficult now to fully satisfy his needs. Each generation brought with it a new idea, a new concept of thinking and, although he was usually on top of these changes, Reaver was growing weary of the same difference. Fresh young faces were losing their appeal, even though his own face stayed as beautiful and as youthful as ever, which caused him to wonder if there was some hidden effect in his immortality.

The hero rarely pondered on his arrangement. The only times he thought about it were when the sacrifices were due, and even then just for the inconvenience they caused him. Did the Court ever think about his other priorities? His parties, his drinking games, maybe even his work? The travelling caused such a disruption in his everyday life, that he had once contemplated just allowing death to find him. But, as always, Reaver fulfilled his side of the bargain, and brought them a sacrifice fit for an ancient God.

Many women believed his words of adoration. They followed him without question into the belly of the shadows; this made things more simple, though on occasions he had only just been in time for the ritual. The feeling of his youth leeching out of his bones, being sapped at a thousand times the speed of a normal mans, was not one he liked to repeat.

"Sir," the unfamiliar voice caused Reaver to turn, hand clutched over his trusty weapon. The immortal relaxed when he saw the twinkling sapphire eyes of Despair in front of him. "Sir, my leader has asked for your safe return back to the inn. Deprivation explains that night may be a danger here, with the darkness possible at every turn, and that he values your safety over the prospect for relaxation. Please, follow me to your accommodation."

Despair's deep voice was more robotic than his leader, which caused some of the respectful charm to disappear. Though his glinting eyes were indeed a rival, there was nothing about this budding Spire-Guard that matched to his leader's attraction, and it made Reaver feel slightly more inclined to do as he was asked. What point was there in arguing when he did not care for the man's reaction?

"Very well," he sighed as he pointed his sleek dress cane, "Lead the way." Whilst they travelled back to the clay-like inn, the Spire-Guard seemed to be slightly distracted from his task. The beautiful, bobbing candle flames around them pulled him into a false sense of security, something he knew before these hefty duties laid themselves upon his shoulders, which caused a slight smile to play on his soft face. Reaver noticed this although he remained silent; there was no reason for him to show an interest in Despair's happiness.

Finally, the 'young' man broke their silence, "I hope I did not offend you, by not telling you about my presence."

"Never underestimate my perception skills," replied Reaver as he leisurely strolled. Despair thought about continuing their conversation, though in the end he discarded the idea and decided to resume the previous silence. Deprivation had always told him to never get distracted, anyway.

Soon they arrived at their slightly improved shelter, and the pair parted into their separate groups. Reaver grudgingly took up a space beside Sparrow, who was devouring a properly prepared Auroran dish, before admiring the new suit Garth had donned and the...lovely dress Hammer wrapped around her oversized figure. They were both the same colour of the sand, each tapered with a different symbol, which caused the immortal to wonder if they were worth stealing for a moment. Despair sat on a longer table with his own team, flashing Deprivation a satisfied smile at the job he had just finished. The leader nodded towards him although his eyes were now directed onto Reaver's youthful face.

"Dep, I have fulfilled your wishes," the 'young' man mentioned proudly, "What else might I help with, before I settle down to this meal?"

The handsome stranger answered him with distraction in his voice, "Pardon? I am sorry, brother – I find myself preoccupied within my own thoughts tonight. No, do not trouble yourself over more work for these evening. Sit and eat with us, then I require all of you to rest before our tasks begin tomorrow. I shall call for you at dawn, should any problems arise." Even as he spoke, Deprivation kept one eye on Reaver.


	26. Thoughts and Feelings

Deprivation was too distracted to sleep. Although his men laid on their beds, happily resting in preparation for tomorrow, their leader could find nothing but torment storming in his mind. Whispers sounded in his head, things that he could not fully understand; however this did not stop them from beckoning him into their shadowy grip. If anything, the stranger was too afraid to fall into the dark abyss of sleep. These whispers might have become terrible nightmares if he did and, when the nights were already filled with his darkest memories, Deprivation had no intention of facing a different terror. Especially at his time of peace.

Eventually, he rose from his new sleeping place. It was a comfortable bed, complimented by a thick fluffy mattress and large plump pillows, even though he had specifically requested for no special treatment. The leader cared for his team's comfort – what kind of brother would he be otherwise? – yet for his own, he found nothing appealing in a bed's cushiony claws. A hard, stone floor attracted him more than this white-cloud monstrosity. But his men were sleeping soundly, which made him remember that his sacrifices were always going to benefit them, and brought a smile to his tanned features.

There was a single balcony attached to their room, where the leader found himself after a few moments of wandering. Beautiful moonlight shone down, casting a silvery glow across his face, whilst below him were clucking hens and a few glittering gold pieces that had been forgotten. Another beam stretched across his mouth as he gazed down at them; Reaver would have probably commented on how measly those coins were. The eccentric hero was probably carrying thousands in currency at any given time, no matter where he was travelling too. It was a little quirk that Deprivation did not understand, yet somehow found rather charming.

Suddenly, guilt plagued the leader's happy thoughts. The whispers seemed to return, only for a moment, as Hammer crept cautiously into his mind and reminded him about his previous feelings. How could he have forgotten about her so quickly? Even he could not believe it, when he chose to think about a man who infuriated him so, rather than a lady that was so attracted to him. The hero of Strength's beauty was undeniable – like the softest flower, her face bloomed into his mind with the aroma of appeal. But still, Reaver's youthful features seemed to almost outshine her now, as if he were invading the stranger's thoughts as easily as he handled his business contracts.

"Brother?" Deprivation turned, prepared to tell his friend to go back to bed, although he relaxed when he saw Solace's face. It was always comforting to see him, no matter the hour. "Why are you awake?"

"The beds here are rather uncomfortable. I could ask you the same question, though; why are you awake, Solace? What has awoken you?"

The brown haired Spire-Guard smiled at his leader, seeing the light dancing in his eyes before he replied, "I am not certain. Dreams, possibly, however I can recall whispers in my head just as I opened my eyes. Forgive me, Dep, for I cannot believe that the beds are responsible for your being awake. A certain thief on your mind, perhaps?"

Deprivation felt his cheeks flushing a bright scarlet. It were as if his brother was psychic, blessed with a gift that his teammate's were unaware of, although it was more likely that the leader's thoughts were all too obvious.

"You are not as perceptive as you once thought," he chuckled awkwardly, "Reaver cannot be further from my mind at this moment. In fact, until you just spoke of him, I simply forgot that he existed." The stranger had never been good at lying and, by the smirk playing on Solace's face, it seemed as though he had not improved.

"Yes, yes, I am sure that is true. Did you also hear that Desolation grew wings and flew back home for the winter months? Be honest with me Dep, and be honest with yourself – the thief plays on your mind."

The Spire-Guard knew he was right. Even as the glow of the moon illuminated his leader's face, sending waves of his determination across a wide radius, there were the faint hints of confusion lining his attractive features. Who would not be confused? After pining for Hammer's 'luscious' looks, it must have been quite the effort to realise his feelings for Reaver. Even though the eccentric hero still had information that might become dangerous later.

"I am certain that you have been given false information."

"Is that so? Only that you have not slept probably for a month, and your conversational topics have always been about the thief. Are you certain that I have the wrong information, or are you denying that Reaver captivates your heart? Admit it, Dep – we have an opportunity to love for the rest of our lives, ripped away from us by your father when he slaughtered all our women. This man, wherever he may have acquired it, seems to possess immortality such as we do."

Deprivation's interests perked as he asked, "How so?"

"Records of his existence stretch as far back as four hundred years. Not quite our age, but I digress; he commandeers the art of death defiance almost like we do."

"Where have you acquired these ideas?"

"Books. There were quite a few with the sailors, detailing different parts of Albion's history, although some were simply fiction. I found quite a few interesting chapters that spoke of a man who, with looks rivalling the most beautiful of temptresses, possesses eternal youth at the hands of a great evil."

Deprivation's features faltered. He could not deny that the idea made him upset, that Reaver could be involved in a dark path; however his tanned face quickly regained composure so he could behave like a leader again.

"I see. How interesting. Go now, brother, and rest your head once more. Remember that the sun will arrive soon and, with it, will come a day filled with much manual labour," he gestured back inside their dark room before turning back. The land around them had settled now, in the sense that the hens had fallen silent and the moon's glow seemed to calm even the most active of pets. The leader felt a smile twitching.

Solace waited for a moment, maybe with a faint hope that his friend would speak again, though soon he turned and made his way back to bed. There was no point in causing an argument, and he could see Deprivation's mood had altered slightly at his words. The thief must have been playing on his mind far more than they both anticipated.

A Spire-Guard's love was never to be taken lightly.


	27. Uncovered Bizarre

The next day was an ecstasy of labour. Deprivation and his men worked tirelessly through the morning, carrying heavy burdens in their arms which were tiered with mountains of decorations, although they went about it without protest. Reaver, who had been sitting at the inn's 'garden' all morning, sipped at his restorative beverage whilst admiring the rate of work the mystery men were portraying. It seemed their fearless leader had much more than charm in his possession.

"I can't believe how much they've got done," Hammer mentioned as the other heroes settled down around him. The eccentric man sighed before setting his drink to the side; how could he possibly enjoy it when a menial conversation was going on? Even though Garth had a strange glint in his eye that morning...

"They are hardworking men," the mage replied to his friend whilst pouring himself some water, which had been graciously presented by one of the buxom barmaids, "This must be a minor feat, compared to their other priorities. Oh, that reminds me – did anyone else hear Deprivation speaking last night? It sounded as though he were talking to himself, but he kept saying 'Chaos'."

Reaver's interests perked for a moment. He had not heard the mysterious leader's speech last night, nor had he realised that Garth was able to pick up on sounds so far away from him, though he admitted that there was not much interest when it came to the mage. Often, it was a wonder that his glowing eye did not wither and die in the air of his boredom.

"Talking?" Sparrow signed with his fingers as a frown furrowed on his lips, "Talking? Maybe it was to one of his men. Staying up late at night to make preparations is one of the main things to do, when you're at the head of a team."

"I beg to differ," the thief contradicted in glee, "I find that when my employees require my attention, their queries can be answered almost instantly with a bullet to the head. As King, I would have suspected that process would be a practical centrepiece to your reign." It was a quip at Sparrow's leadership, to show that the previous adventurer had not yet gained his counterpart's respect. If anything, after vowing to clean up Albion and stealing away most of his enjoyment, Reaver had grown to despise him even more.

"Shut it," Hammer growled in her friend's defence. Ever since the thief had stolen her beloved's attention she had found herself trying to pick arguments with him, just so she would have a reason to smack him with her trusty hammer. Though, when she thought about it, a melee weapon would be far slower than his Dragonstomper .48.

"Now now," Reaver replied as he sipped his drink again, "There's no need to be upset. I was simply implying that our 'friend' has not been using his Royal influences to their full potential. Think, Sparrow – your name would be feared by all the useless common-folk, whispered only by the hardiest of fools, and your face idolised in the minds of every crazed young temptress from Aurora to Albion. My recent discoveries show that many possess quite sizable attributes..."

The thief was quickly hushed by his King, who had a flickering impression of discomfort on his face. Feeling as though he had accomplished something, Reaver sat back in the cushioned Auroran seat and tried to hold a bout of laughter behind his thin lips. Just before Garth could open his mouth again, probably in the vain hope of getting back to his original point, the heroes caught sight of Deprivation moving towards them. Hammer was the first to turn her head and, as she did this, a soft crackle of attraction sparked across her milky white face.

The leader had abandoned his blue tunic since the hot Auroran sun beat down so mercilessly, leaving it on one of the dusty crates somewhere near the market stalls. His torso was knotted with muscle, so defined that even Reaver had scarcely seen men that rivalled it, whilst the overwhelming heat caused waterfalls of sweat to trickle down his tanned features. It were as if he had become a water elemental as the little droplets continued to cascade down his body, though he smiled through the obvious discomfort and greeted the heroes with a chirpy tone.

"This weather is rather harsh," he explained to them as he gestured to his body, probably trying to make himself seem more respectable despite being half-naked, "My men and I have been forced to rid ourselves of our tunics. We do not feel comfortable, but it is a sacrifice that we are proud to participate in if it means your comfort." Even though a fountain poured down his face, Deprivation had seemed to lose none of his charm, which caused Hammer's heart to flutter momentarily before she saw his gaze at Reaver. The slim man was sipping on his beverage once more, one leg crossed over the other, whilst casually admiring his guard's body and nodding in appreciation.

The handsome stranger did not seem to mind. A nervous glance was passed, mixed with a hint of excitement and a dash of glee, although it was quickly masked by one of business. Hammer found herself growling quietly; what would it take for Deprivation to notice her again? Did she have to prove her worth against that of the immortal? Because, if it meant receiving the favour of her beloved again, she would have done any task he required.

"We understand," Garth replied, translating Sparrow's signing as best he could, "Working in the heat of this desert sun must be exhausting – we don't judge your decision to keep your men cool." Even as he spoke they could see the glances passed between Reaver and Deprivation, which caused the mage to smile almost instinctively, despite his hatred of the thief. Such affection was always a pleasure to witness, and it was only enhanced by the fact that the handsome stranger did not even realise.

"I am thankful of your words, sire," Deprivation said as he bowed towards them. A droplet of sweat fell from his forehead, landing in the dusty Auroran sands which almost sizzled on impact. The temperature must have been over 30 ◦C now.

"Don't mention it."

The leader opened his mouth to speak, before a large crash sounded behind him and the shrill squeak of Desolation was heard straight after. Twitches of embarrassment lined his tanned face as he turned, only to be presented with one of the supporting poles atop his youngest member, forcing him down onto the ground like a child trapped by a tree branch. A sigh passed Deprivation's lips; no matter how much training his brother received, it seemed as though nothing would ever make him Spire-Guard material.

But he was so determined to live up to his father's example.

"I apologise for this," the stranger said as he started to drift away, "I must aid my brother. If there are any requests for our assistance than please, do not hesitate to make them known at supper. We shall be swift in any task you need completed." With those words, complete with a fleeting farewell, Deprivation rushed towards his trapped teammate and began to lift the supporting pole of him. Whimpers sounded across the clearing, making all the surrounding market stalls rack with laughter, even though the Spire-Guards were more concerned with comforting their youngest member.

As Reaver admired their continued work ethic, he allowed his mind to wander momentarily over Deprivation's good looks. It was scarce that a man presented himself with both good looks and an honest demeanour, the latter being something Reaver cared little for, and it seemed that his attention had suddenly switched to the thief since his infatuation with Hammer. If all went to plan, he could have all the secrets locked away in the leader's mind. Maybe it would even contain things that were not written in the history books? How fascinating that would be!

"When do you think we will be setting off?" Garth suddenly inquired, bringing Reaver's attention away from his fantasy. The people around him shrugged their shoulders whilst watching the strange bizarre in front of them, which heaved with all sorts of dazzling diamonds and exotic garments.

"When Deprivations done."

"And when will that be, Hammer?"

"I don't bloody know, do I?" The hero gathered her weapon, suddenly furious at her friend, before storming off into the inn and yelling at the top of her voice. A scream, more like, which caused everyone in the bizarre to fall silent as they gazed at her leaving. Garth's cheeks flushed slightly.

"Do not fret, you understand how women can be," Reaver comforted, which was strange for him, "Over-reactions become nothing more than a common feature, once you have had sampled every flavour of female available. She shall overcome this, just as a child overcomes the pride of his first-steps, and falls into the line of mediocrity that calls in his social class." A smile sparked across the thief's face, something familiar and vulgar, yet somehow calming to his 'friend'. At least Reaver had not changed.

Although, his eyes were still peering at Deprivation.


	28. Festive Fun

By nightfall, the clearing was unrecognisable. Dusty paths had been transformed into walkways of roses; leading down to the once-sandy opening in the middle of Aurora, which itself was decorated to near immaculate status. The men were still putting on their finishing touches, clinging on to the tops of clay oil-lamp posts like well-dressed monkeys as they placed in single flower-heads, and twined thick green vines around the sun baked support poles. Each man had now changed from their half-naked appearance, instead favouring to don their own special garments which were dyed a deep red; Garth pondered for a moment that, if he were to lay his eyes on the emotion rage, it would be the same colour his guide so happily wore.

Below them stood sturdy tables, filled by mountains of strange fruit and Auroran dishes that the heroes had yet to lay eyes on, whilst the inhabitants of this bizarre world were busy preparing giant wicker baskets of floral arrangements and polished 'ceremonial' cutlery. The forks were handled with such care – Hammer wondered if they might have been religious in some way, even though a few children were so casually bending them as the black belt of night sank over their heads.

Reaver gazed at all the preparations with surprise flickering in his eyes – had any ordinary team been appointed to this job, with more equipment and a plan detailing their tasks, still Deprivation's men would have out-done them by a milestone. It was truly gorgeous. Even by the thief's standards.

Desolation had been appointed to a different position, after the incident involving one support pole, and almost wore a scowl on his face whilst he went about it. The Spire-Guard was happy, of course, that his leader had not simply thrown him onto a more humiliating task such as cleaning out chicken coops, although he could hardly say this was any better. Another man, with any hint of dignity to his character, would have turned this placement down if it had been offered to him. But Deprivation was quite clear on his reasoning behind this, making his brother feel special, however with his message still ringing loudly above his words.

The 'young' man set down another embroidered rug, in the vain hope that this one would remain in place. A sly wind was peeking from the South, and with it came the harsh scent of raindrops, though Desolation cared little for bad weather at this moment. It only played slightly on his mind now for its inconvenience – if rain began to fall from this diamond-studded sky, than the rugs would become ruined and his leader might have felt disappointed in him.

Deprivation signalled to his men after a few more minutes of work, telling them to go and rest for the upcoming celebration. His words were laboured slightly, an indication that he had become weary after the troublesome tasks. Reaver was the first to notice. He was also the first to address his exhausted guide.

"Splendid decor," the thief said as he approached, "I couldn't envision such a dreary, drab place being transformed into this masterpiece. Especially with your somewhat...limited, resources!" It was true; the mystery men had not been given much to use, aside from a few broken support poles and a pathetic mass of dead flower-heads. Only when Absolution had discovered some strong rope did the team truly start their almost miraculous handiwork.

"Thank you," Deprivation took a bow out of respect, although he just wanted to blush, "My men have laboured in the hot sun, and our result has been worth every drop of sweat we shed. I am humbled by your kind words, thief."

Reaver frowned. The leader, however charming with his words, had used the term 'thief' again. The eccentric hero was starting to wonder if he would benefit from using his more expert strategies, if nothing else, to get his interest to start using his name. But a glint in Deprivation's eye caused him to smile again, and remember that they were in a delightful game of cat and mouse right now. It was only a matter of time before the stranger was squeaking in his paws.

"So you should be; it's very rare I give out compliments, even to one so exceptional as yourself. Though, if we were to find ourselves in a secluded room, I might be convinced to part with many...compliments..." There was heavy indication in his voice, things that even the most foolish of men would have gathered, although Deprivation simply tilted his head with an innocent smile on his face. He was unused to such innuendo and, having not been around it since birth, the leader could not detect the hints underlying Reaver's speech.

"Your words are far too kind," he replied much to the thief's annoyance, "I am truly grateful for your praise, and I shall be informing the men that they have honoured their ancestor's memory, as you have given me that ability to do so." A smile played on his tanned features, highlighting the youthful details of his face, whilst his eyes continued to spark with an energy that intrigued Reaver.

Could he truly not understand the innuendos? Did his mind not register the subtle changes in the thief's tone? Was the handsome man playing his cards close to his chest, trying to keep the game under his control? If that was the case, and Deprivation truly believed he had gained some footing in their dance for power, than he was sorely mistaken. Reaver had never lost a game before. He did not intend to start.

"Splendid, splendid," he turned, intent on making the next move, "A true marvel, I daresay. Let's hope that the true festivity lives up to its appearance!" The leader raised an eyebrow – what did that mean?

"I am sorry?"

"Oh, do not fret, man; I'm certain the ghastly activities befalling a typical party shan't plague us here. Although, dancing with such brutes and ruffians doesn't quite peak my interests..."

"I understand, thief. Would the situation be remedied if you were to receive a dance partner, who was not such a 'ruffian'?" Deprivation did not believe Reaver's words himself. After meeting a few of the local residents here, as well as speaking with a selection of the more out-going children, he could find no hint of brutish behaviour. Not a blemish spoiled their natural happiness, no rebellious criminals nor drunken buffoons, though the leader was not one to disagree with the heroes.

"It could influence my attendance," the thief replied as a smile stretched over his face, "However it would take a rather astute partner to turn my gaze. Are you certain that one such exists?"

The leader chuckled for a moment, realising how he had been trapped in the question, before he replied in a more composed voice, "If I were to give you one of my own men, I fear your interests would falter in short. No more finer partner can I offer you than my brothers, nor can I choose between people I do not know; therefore, if you would so kindly accept, I would like to candidate myself for the position. You shall find I am rather light on my feet, although the manners of dancing have escaped me for many years." Reaver's eyes flashed slightly with a slight hint of triumph.

"I suppose I can be persuaded, if you are so graciously offering me your partnership," an awkward smile descended over Deprivation's face before the hero continued, "I warn you, though – I'm by no means uneducated on the subject of parties. This had best entertain, or I might be convinced to start my own fun."

With the parting words, Reaver began to walk away from his guide. The handsome stranger found himself staring after him, his eyes playing with both confusion and affection, before he suddenly realised what he was contemplating. Of all the people, why him? Hammer was his first interest, with her beautiful soft face and the hardy, strong body. But the eccentric hero had seemed to almost sweep her aside, cast her into the shadows, and replace his own youthful features in the mind of the Spire-Leader. It was truly a feat.

It was truly frightening.


	29. Stealing Hearts

Solace was enjoying himself immensely. After secretly observing his leader's awkward conversation, up until he had agreed to be Reaver's dance partner, the Spire-Guard was finding it difficult to contain his glee. Even when looking up at Deprivation as he straightened out his special red garment, there was a niggling emotion gnawing at his insides like a ladybird on a leaf. It was all very exciting.

"Dep," the dark-haired warrior glanced up, a smile stretching over his lips, "The festival tonight shall involve dancing. Shall I presume that you are available, or have you been stolen away?" This time it was Solace's turn to smile as a scarlet blush caressed his friend's cheeks. For many years they had been as thick as thieves, and now it seemed that a true thief was taking his mind away. It was hard to say if the Spire-Guard felt cheated in some way, as if he were losing a brother rather than gaining a friend, although the flickering joy in his eyes suggested otherwise. Nothing was more exciting than the prospect for ancient love; especially when that love was separated by thousands of years and differences a-plenty.

"I am afraid that my dance rights are in ownership," Deprivation replied as he polished a shining gold button. The action was far more pressured than usual, even though they had been taught to religiously clean their ceremonial outfits, which caused another smile to play on Solace's lips. His brother was dancing with a love interest – was it possible that, after so many years of solitude, the leader's heart had finally found its private affection? Was there a glimmering ray of hope in his otherwise bleak world? If so, nothing could have been more perfect.

Well...Solace could not say everything was perfect. Reaver would not be his first choice, mainly for the fact he was a dishonest businessman who seemed renowned amongst the heroes for cruelty. But this was not his choice; Deprivation deserved his heart's desire and, if this was the immortal, then so be it. The Spire-Guard refused to allow judgement pass.

"Oh? And who has taken my leader so quickly?" a mischievous expression filled his features, "A lovely lady, perhaps? Miss Penelope, of the High Priestess Temple? No? Surely it cannot be a man so comfortable with luxury, who glimmers white in hot sun and possesses hearts to his eye?"

Deprivation passed an irritated look. He could see the mischief plaguing his friend's face, the tango of glee and happiness, although he felt addressing it would cause a fit of laughter. Solace knew that his heart was soft with fondness – nothing the leader could say would change his mind on this matter.

"If you must know, I am Reaver's dance partner for this evening," he answered, "It was a request, more or less, and you understand how important their comfort is to our mission. Never would I endanger our task so recklessly."

It was a bare-faced lie. There was no reason that the handsome man would be doing this, unless of course it was for his pleasure. The brown-haired warrior allowed a slight frown to falter; it was not normal for his friend to lie. Particularly, it was not normal for him to lie to his brothers.

"Do we remember Theresa's warning? I have thought on it a few times, brother, and simply come to one conclusion. Shall I tell you of its meaning, or are you too pre-occupied with the heart's affairs to hear of our Lady?"

This caused a fire to start in Deprivation's eyes. For him, this was a question of his loyalty, most likely derived from his apparent 'distracted' mood lately, which seemed inappropriate considering his position. He quickly rebuked his friend, before straightening his red tunic and making sure he looked respectable for Reaver.

"Our Spire is still my main concern; therefore anything that involves our Lady is of utmost importance," he replied before spraying some exotic cologne on his neck, "What have you decided on the warning, Solace?"

"She mentioned that 'the thief steals more than gold.' After hours of contemplating the meanings, even sampling alternate ideas and twisting the message around, I came upon one conclusion."

"Which is?"

"The thief – Reaver – steals hearts as well." A look of confusion descended upon Deprivation's face, a look that remained for a brief moment, until Solace continued speaking, "I believe that it was not a warning, but more a prediction. Dep, we have reason to think that your current love interest is stealing your heart."

The leader's features became lined with shock. There were dashes of disbelief in there, mixed together to make a gruesome cocktail of emotion, whilst he dropped the glass bottle of cologne on the floor. Could it be possible? Was the calculation incorrect? There seemed to be no other explanation, save that Reaver would steal something even more valuable, and nothing existed that would be more treasured than the love of a Spire-Guard.

"Interesting," he answered whilst regaining composure, "That seems like a reasonable answer; however your theories are incorrect. I am not interested in romantic entanglement, especially not with Reaver, so I shall have no more discussion on this aspect of my life. Do we understand, Solace? I am entirely loyal to the Spire-Guards, to us. Now, tell the men that I am ready to give their orders, before the festivities begin in our absence."

"Yes, it would be a pity if Reaver were left alone for a moment," it was not an argument nor a displeased remark – Solace was simply poking fun at his brother, in a vain hope that the seriousness of their situation would soon lift. When they had been at the Spire, training for the fights that might come to them, they were always more relaxed than this. But now it seemed as though his leader needed to act as such, as if he were promoting the Spire though only the thief knew of their attachment.

"Oh, and Solace," the Spire-Guard turned to his friend, a light smile playing on his face whilst they both straightened their garments, "Remember to keep vigilant. The darkness lurks at every corner here; to let it flood the city would be hazardous for the persons involved."

Solace pondered for a moment, wondering if they were in any immediate danger, before nodding and flashing a smile at him. A small farewell was called, even though he would be back in no time at all.

Deprivation stared into the half-shattered mirror. He could see the tanned features set so strongly into his face, something that many people saw as a beautiful gift, although he wished for nothing more than to be cast with ugliness. When those piercing emerald eyes gazed back at him, the only things that he could truly call his own, his flaws were highlighted in the fiercest light imaginable. Why was he cursed with this beauty? Why, of all people, did the secret Spire-Leader have to carry this burden amongst the others? And what person in their right mind would love someone like him? Be it Hammer, Reaver, or anyone else he had yet to encounter – to Deprivation, there was nothing more unattractive than his accursed features.

For whenever he gazed into a mirror, he found Chaos staring back at him.


	30. Dancing Embraces

Reaver waited impatiently at the party. A travel-weary woman had arrived not long ago, positively dripping in glittering gemstones and carrying a crateful of flower petals, although the immortal was far too pre-occupied with his own affairs to care. In fact, even if he did not have a battle-ready, duty-hardened dance partner to entertain tonight, Reaver realised quite gleefully that he still would not have cared. There were many who welcomed her with open arms and cheerful cries – why would the eccentric man bother with pleasantries, after a whole committee had patted her ego?

He looked at his shining gold pocket watch, with one eye directed at the inn's door. Where was that infernal Spire-Leader? If the dark-haired stranger was not quite so charming, and did not possess such natural appeal, Reaver might have thought to disappear and leave him to his own devices. But, as Deprivation still had secrets hidden under his business-like facade, the immortal refused to lose interest. He wanted to know every detail about his guide.

"I apologise for the delay," he looked up to see the leader had arrived, dressed in his smart red outfit and sporting a respectful yet attractive smile, "My men and I were conferring on their orders. You understand." Reaver's lips stretched into his own grin whilst he took his partner's gloved hand.

"My dear man; one might have thought you were deliberately delaying, so that I would be left partner-less," he said as they took a place in the clearing. Several women turned their heads but it was hard to tell if they were admiring the handsome Spire-Guard, or if they were marvelling at the slimmer, smaller hero. Reaver was more used to their stares than Deprivation, who returned them with an awkward smile and attempted to keep his eyes away.

"Surely you were not worried for my attendance? I have yet to abandon a promise, and my arrangement with you was certain assurance that I would be present. Did you fear my absence?" It was more a taunt than anything, as their hands pressed against each other and a lulling sound of harps sounded in the air. Hardly an appropriate song for such a celebration, although they knew nothing of these Auroran's culture – it was possible that they had reason for this particular music, and Deprivation did not care to delve too deeply into it. He was distracted by the sudden twinkling in Reaver's eyes.

"I worry about nothing," the thief replied whilst they circled each other, their hands still pressed together, "Why would a man such as myself fret over anything? I have wealth, possess a menagerie of collectibles, and my weapon is one of the rarest to ever grace this pitiful earth. What possible aspect of my life could cause me worry?"

The leader gazed down into Reaver's irises, trying his best to understand what had caused such a speech, although he chose to ignore it and concentrated on his walking. Dancing had been a pastime for him, three thousand years ago in his boyhood, but he found his feet were now struggling to keep to the beat. Each footstep was light, expert; if he were not dancing with the Hero of Skill, Deprivation may have been able to get away with it, and maybe he would have even wrangled a compliment from another partner.

But Reaver was too quick.

"Such grace," the immortal sarcastically chuckled, "It seems that you are out of your depth. Would you care to step aside, or do you wish to flail like a hapless toddler for a few more moments?" A glare was passed between them before Deprivation found his footing again, continuing the stride in more defiance than anything else.

A few hours passed with their dancing. Many songs whirled by as the night grew older, and beckoned twinkling stars above to shimmer over the two men, locked in conversation as well as their balanced moves. Reaver was determined to weasel some more information out of him; however, the leader was providing no opportunity, as he dove into yet another discussion about the finest of his partner's clothes. It was obvious he was trying to protect something, protect the secrets that had been entrusted to him by birth, although the immortal was not allowing that to happen easily. Eventually, it broiled down to a direct approach, one of which caused Deprivation's guard to falter and his smile to disperse.

"The Spire must have been a thrilling home. Tell me – how did it feel?" The leader raised his eyebrow before carefully considering his reply.

"Forgive me. I do not understand?"

"Come, come now; don't act the fool. You must have felt the power surging underneath your feet at some point."

Deprivation sighed, and managed to muster a simple sentence, "My secrets are my own, thief. I cannot part with them, even if I wished to, for it shall have a direct effect on my brothers, and my dedication to their well-being makes me hesitant." Reaver's eyes glistened for a moment, his advanced mind thinking on a reply whilst he searched the leader's tanned features.

What was the point for this? The stranger knew how Reaver could be, and had received many warnings to stay away from him; however an odd appeal seemed to pull him back every time, ensuring that they were never far from each other despite apparent discomfort. It was truly infuriating.

"I don't want there to be an accident involving your teammates," the thief finally muttered, "It would be such a shame if they found themselves trapped somehow, in a cavern entirely void of light. Men who refuse to give me what I want often end up in little 'accidents'." It was not a true threat, rather a prompt for Deprivation to give up the information, for Reaver knew of no lightless cavern to put his friends if he refused. Although, by the look in the leader's piercing eyes, he was not willing to take that risk.

With a sigh, he began speaking, "My childhood was spent in the Spire, and for many years I have been honoured to call it my home. The power it possesses is limitless but I have little use for that – for my destiny, it is not needed, though like many men the pull of that hum has often driven me to the brink of insanity. I assume you want clearance into it? That is not something I can – or want to – give away so freely."

"You misunderstand my interest. Maybe I want to get to know my guide? I would feel much more comfortable if there were some details I have to your character."

"My home is immaculate, beautiful. Every night I wish to return there, to be in the world that I know without purpose in this land that does not need me. Such hospitality I have been offered here, but everything has its price, and for my men it is to trade our labour."

"I find that labour is certainly a substantial form of bribery. Much cheaper than throwing a coin or two away."

"Hm," another emotion entered Deprivation's eyes when he did this. It may have been the way the moonlight shone over the immortal's pale features, or maybe the harmony of his voice matching the tune of the harps, but something about him caused a sudden change of mood for the leader. It was most likely the fact he heard Solace's words ringing in his head, the warning's true message, although it felt as though it could not be further from his mind.

"Hm?"

Everything suddenly went in slow motion. Reaver's eyes connected with the leader's own, seeming to almost soften once he saw the raw feeling passing through those piercing irises, before they both felt their heads move closer together, almost independent of themselves. It were as if there was a force between them, which pulled them to each other's faces in an awkward position, threatening to connect them in a beautiful embrace.

_So close..._


	31. First Kiss, Last Rights

Deprivation's lips connected to Reaver. A mad rush of emotion flowed through his veins, so strongly that he found himself almost knocked off his feet whilst the immortal's soft ribbon-like lips expertly controlled his own. It was bliss laced by madness; Solace had been watching from a food stall and, despite his knowledge of the leader's feelings, even his mouth dropped to the floor in shock. Had that just happened? Had Deprivation, solemn leader of the elite Spire-Guards, just surrendered himself to attraction? Everything suddenly became muddled with each other as he continued to gaze at the men, locked in their passionate embrace.

In Reaver's mind, it was hardly any different. Many men had enjoyed the taste of his lips before – very few of which he could still remember – however with Deprivation it suddenly seemed to be an enhanced pleasure. His lips tasted like the soft breezes of a summer morning, complimented by the fierce icy heart of winter and saturated with the blooming hope of spring. In all of this sensation, wrapped in a beautiful package like the changing autumn leaves, the immortal was struggling to differentiate what was real and what was simply a figment of his imagination.

The sound died away. Light flooded in the thief's mind whilst his partner's soft lips continued to work. What was this strange feeling? Was it hunger? No; Reaver had been sure to enjoy a hearty meal before arriving. Maybe it was thirst? Although, there were several empty chalices still lining his bedroom floor, and it was very cold night. Was it possibly...no, that emotion had left him long ago, to venture in another's life whilst he had become the man that existed today.

"Reaver," the immortal's eyes snapped open when his lips suddenly became chilled, hit by a cold air as the wet ribbons were separated, "No. I apologise as it is entirely my fault, but I cannot let this continue. Please understand my position, with my loyalty dedicated to my brothers and my responsibility to the Spire – it would simply be irresponsible to allow this to go further."

The immortal found himself frowning fiercely before muttering, "One might consider it terribly impolite to interrupt such an action. Wouldn't it be so much easier to take a break and welcome a sample of paradise?" Deprivation could see what he was doing and for a brief second, he considered allowing it. So long had the Spire-Leader spent, running from the things he might enjoy so that he could focus on his responsibilities, that it seemed only fair that he was granted some leeway. However, his birth-place dictated his lifestyle; there was no room for affection in his world, especially not from a man such as Reaver.

"I am sorry," the leader repeated reluctantly, which caused a frown to descend upon his interest's face, "If my position were any different, know that I would spend this night locked in our embrace. The Spire has my heart, Reaver, and my Lady possesses my soul. Conditions apply to me that do not apply to others, that cause every movement I make to be dictated by the home I live in. Please, do not judge my actions on the idea that I do not care, for that could not be further from the truth." With a gentle clutch of the immortal's shoulders, Deprivation pushed him slightly away and sighed heavily, causing frozen smoke to billow out of his mouth like a dragon's flame.

Reaver did not know what to do. An out-of-character quiver of his bottom lip indicated upset, or possibly rage at being refused what he wanted, although the handsome stranger was not paying too much heed to that. Instead he disappeared into the crowd with a pre-determined bee-line to his bedroom, Solace following closely behind so he could confront him over what just happened.

Somewhere at the other side of the clearing where bodies were writhing together in lewd fashions, Hammer had witnessed the whole event, and felt insufferable tears building up in her eyes just as Reaver turned on his heels to disappear. He tapped his cane on the sandy earth to signal his leaving, in a vain hope that the dancers around him would part, though he soon just jabbed it hard into their ribcage and forced them to do so. Politeness was not on the agenda tonight – he simply wanted to go, to ponder over Deprivation's words and his lips by himself.

"Stop, Dep!" The leader did not even slow down, as a rebellious tear drop dripped down his cheek like the beginnings of a shower. Solace continued to scream his name, even joining it by an ensemble of, "I saw it! I saw everything! Stop, Dep, please! Just talk to me!" It was not until they had reached the solitude of their chambers that Deprivation chose to turn, although it was to simply warn his brother away from his company rather than talking about current developments.

"Leave me now, Solace, and go back to your duties outside," even as he spoke, watery droplets fell from the stranger's piercing eyes, "For the love of our Lady is a harsh mistress to sustain – to keep her hand we must sacrifice all light in our life, of which there is little, so that we may honour our ancestor's bloodline even though with us it will die." He was in a strange mood now, tapered by a familiar feeling of hurt whilst he remembered Reaver's lips. It had been bliss to kiss them, a luxury that Deprivation had often sacrificed so that his mind could remain focused.

"Remember what we spoke of! The love of a Spire-Guard is absolute, dedicated to that one person his heart decides upon; if you were to throw this aside, you would do naught but taunt our ancestors!" As he spoke, the brown-haired warrior clutched his friend's wrists, possibly hoping that he could somehow jolt sense through him.

Solace had no love for Reaver, for the way he moved and spoke, but his brother's adoration was apparent, and they were obligated to support each other through these times. He could not simply allow for true love to be cast into the shadows.

"You are a fool, Solace! Our Spire requires my heart, my strength and my soul!" screamed Deprivation in reply, "What possible chance could I have for true love? That bastard who fathered me – Chaos by name and by nature – condemned us when he killed all our women, and forced us to become the last of our kind! What leader would I be if I let that happen? Pledging myself to Reaver would mean the end of our lineage!"

"I am the fool? Silence, my brother; might you then listen to the ridiculousness that seeps from your mouth!" Solace's reaction was unexpected, loud, which caused his friend to suddenly become quite, "Even if Chaos had not shed our female's blood, you would still be faced with this challenge today! Take heed of my words, please Dep; do not let this fall through your fingers, for I fear you might never meet another immortal who quite so captivates your heart."

Silence reigned supreme for a moment. Deprivation could feel more insufferable tears building in his eyes, casting his brother in a watery light as he gazed down at him, but he felt touched at the words. Solace cared for his position – he wanted the leader to be happy and knew that, if Reaver would take his partnership, they would be a couple bound in blood. A Spire-Guard's love was the purest thing available.

"I cannot..." he eventually muttered, "I cannot...let myself be taken by the thief. We know of his reputation, one of which cannot be gained through lying; if I were to gift my partnership to him, and watch as he took it and left, than we would be destroyed from the inside out. My heart...my heart would not take such a loss, not again."As he spoke, the stranger clutched at his chest like his heart was about to beat straight out of it. Why did this have to happen to him?

Solace's eyes softened for a moment before he answered, "Risks are taken by the bravest, strongest leaders. They are not always for the benefit of his team, nor are they always for the benefit of his duties – sometimes they are for the benefit of his heart, which should never be allowed to simply wither and die. Reaver may crush you, destroy you and leave your affection in the dust...or he could nurture it, care for it, and teach you the meaning of true love. The choice is yours my brother."

His friend turned to leave, running a gloved hand through his hair as he did so. It was time for his return to his duties, although he would have much rather stayed for the emotional support of Deprivation. Just before the Spire-Guard turned the corner, and a fleeting thought of how natural he was under pressure occurred, the leader called out to him.

"Do you think it's my choice, or that of an unknown force's?"

A chuckle sounded, echoing with a reply, "That is for you to decide, brother!"


	32. Wanted and Deprived

Reaver had found a lovely quiet space to think. It was an excellent spot, one that overlooked the dusty paradise that was called 'Shifting Sands', yet still in the perfect position to be caressed by the moonlight. If he were here on an unplanned holiday, the immortal may have been persuaded to make this one of his favourite places. But all he could think about now was Deprivation, who had so reluctantly denied the kiss they shared and rushed off like he could not bear another dance.

Thin rays of silvery light touched his cheeks lightly, whilst the ever-smug features he usually wore fell into an unrecognisable frown. Sadness ravaged his youthful structure as if it were a disease, although arguably it could have been named as such. Nothing could compare to the damages of upset – an emotion quite so brutal had not been discovered thus far, unless of course love was brought into the equation, but Reaver dare not think about that for the moment. With so much alcohol in his system there was a chance his judgement could be impaired. The immortal could have thought, for that brief moment in time, that love had once again entered his life.

"Blithering idiots," he spat as the lulling music of the festival ran up his hillside watch, "Insignificant little peasants. Why did I ever agree to tag along on this pointless journey? Without entertainment, without decent accommodation and certainly without luxury; this entire trip has been an utter waste of my valuable time."

Even as he spoke, Reaver could not believe it to be true. There was plenty that he liked about this voyage, most notably the interesting skirmishes between sailors and the expert handling of his requests; however these fine details of tonight had completely ruined those factors. Deprivation had made the struggles of mediocrity worth battling and now that no flirtatious tension existed between them, the immortal was wondering if the remaining fragments of the quest were worth the bother.

"Oi, Reaver," a rough voice floated into his mind, one choked with unshed tears, "Turn around. I've got a bone to pick with you."

"Not now, Hammer dear. I'd much prefer to be left alone." His voice was also thick, though still unclear if it was rage or upset. His fingers drummed on a ruined wall in front of him, tapping out a tune that resembled a horse's gallop upon the sun-baked structure.

Hammer, who had admittedly been several flagons of ale since she saw their tender embrace, was in no mood to be brushed off. For too long she had kept quiet over her anger at Reaver – finally, she was going to give him a piece of her mind. And, if he did not promise to leave her beloved Deprivation alone, maybe her sword as well.

"You're not getting rid of me. You're going to back off from Deprivation, and you're going to do it now, or I'll break you in half!" Her threats fell of slightly bemused ears as Reaver turned around. There was a smile on his face, replacing the sad lines that once plagued his features, and danced on the ribbons he called lips.

"No need to become so aggressive," his words were laced with patronising tones, "I believe you'll find that Deprivation and I are nothing more than business acquaintances. He's leading us through this monotonous wasteland, and then we'll part our separate ways as nature intended."

Though the hero made them sound as strong as he could, there was no hard belief behind his words. His voice, though triumphant in its own smug little way, threatened to crack whilst he forced himself to utter the grim sentence, in the hopes that Hammer would soon lose interest and bumble away in her drunken stupor. But there was a fire in her eyes tonight; she wanted Reaver to never go near her beloved again, for fear that he would elbow her out of the leader's affections.

Little did she know that had already happened.

"Don't mess with me tonight, you pompous little arse. I'm not going to be the pushover anymore!"

"My dear girl, judging by the size of you, I don't believe anyone possesses the strength required to push you over."

"That's it! If you're not going to listen to me, I'll have to smash you until you do!" With a great swing of her hammer, the large-bodied lady tried to make the first attack on her slim-bodied counterparts. She was so drunk right now that she could never dream of hitting straight, especially not on a target who so easily deflected bullets on a daily basis. When her inaccurate attack had been make things seemed to go in slow-motion for Reaver, as he stepped casually to the side and allowed the weapon to destroy the already ruined wall.

"Such a pathetic attack," he chuckled whilst drawing his Dragonstomper .48, "My turn." He trained it at Hammer's head, aiming it perfectly to make it a killing shot, which she realised before stepping back and thinking her last thoughts.

She had never known the pleasure of finding true love, nor the thrill of riding a horse over snow-topped mountains or delving into a cave for the pure enjoyment of it. Since Reaver's gun pointed between her eyes now, trained with precision to make certain she would never rise again, her hope for ever completing these tasks was rapidly waning. Why did she have to be such an idiot? Why attack Reaver, of all the people? Now there was no chance she would claim Deprivation's heart – with her death, the immortal would be free to take the leader!

Suddenly, there was a harsh cry. The heroes were thrown to the side by some invisible source, completely throwing Reaver's shot and causing it to wail through the night sky, which effectively silenced the party beneath them. He shouted in surprise; for all his worth, he cried for Deprivation, rather than a simple inane scream.

In front of them stood a horrific sight. It looked as though it had once been a man, though it was crippled with a dark curtain hanging over a broken bloodied body. Momentarily a memory of the dead sailor flashed in the immortal's mind, before it vanished as he clutched a handkerchief in his pocket and held it over his pale nose. Hammer stared at the man, agape, until she finally mustered words to speak to him.

"You're hurt mate," she babbled madly, "You're really hurt. Come on, with us, and we'll get you to a doctor or something. Avo's love – look at his face!" It was twisted into horrible proportions, contorted with a certain air of menace about it as the crippled person stumbled towards them. He began to stutter whilst he did this, collapsing into Hammer's muscular outstretched arms once she had regained her footing.

"Do speak up, man," Reaver growled with impatience, "I'm deaf in one ear and do not care in the other, you see."

"Shut it!" Hammer shouted, "What is it, mate? What's done this to you?"

The man continued to stammer for a moment, which caused a fountain of inky black blood to jump out of his chapped lips. Before he managed to finally spit out what he was trying to say, he touched the hero's soft pale face like it was the most delicate thing he had ever seen.

"It...it wants its...son..."


	33. Painful Truth

The clearing had become an ecstasy of fear now, as party-goers threw their celebrations to the side in favour for their lives. Many people who had been so happily dancing before, laughing on a night that seemed almost perfect, collapsed to their needs whilst screams of pure terror echoed around the now chaotic gathering. Even Penelope wore an expression of disgust when she laid eyes upon the crippled man. Hammer's grunts were heard above this din – the nameless person was much heavier than he looked, which caused her to struggle as they descended from the silver-coated hilltop.

Reaver chose to not help Hammer, albeit more out of spite than general lack of care. She had attacked him not moments before, put a hammer to his face in a pathetic attempt to save her beloved, and now she expected his assistance? The immortal rarely helped anyone, let alone a person who so stupidly thought they could match him in battle. Though, at that moment in time, there was much debate on whether his mind was clear...

"What happened?" The deep voice belonged to Deprivation, who rushed from the inn as if he had suddenly sprouted wings. It was painful for the leader to look upon Reaver's youthful face again, so soon after they had shared such a tender embrace, but he refused to let his affections take over. His men needed him to be strong; if they had no sturdy guardianship now, then all would be lost.

"We were on the hill," Hammer drunkenly replied, "We were arguing on the hill and all of a sudden, this bugger comes out, covered in this dark cloak thing. It's just like the sailor!" Her words were slurred and Deprivation struggled to understand them, however he nodded as though they were crystal clear. Reaver repeated them again in his own sarcastic little way, probably because he was more interested in knowing the facts than actually helping the crippled man.

Solace appeared from behind his brother, clutching a large bag of medicine that he had acquired from the Priestess'. They were extremely happy to help any person in need, although even Holy women of Aurora could not deny the Spire-Guard's looks had influenced their decision. It took only a flash of a smile for these men, a small recognition of someone's existence, to gain the supplies they required.

"Arguing?" The leader raked his eyes over his large-bodied, ex-interest, which caused a shiver to run up her spine whilst she put the injured person down, "And what possible reason could you possess for arguing? Wait – do not tell me, for I fear the answer will only cause me more grief." It were as if he was scolding school children, bickering needlessly over the rights to a black crayon, even though his eyes spoke for themselves. When Reaver glanced into those emerald depths, he could see the knowledge surging through them, like a bolt of lightning charging through a chaotic black sky.

He knew why they had argued. He just did not want to hear it.

"What caused this man to be so injured?" Solace asked whilst dabbing his head with oil, "Such wounds are not created through normal means, nor does it leave a residue so peculiar. Tell me, did an animal do this?"

"Of course, some exotic creature did this," Reaver replied whilst taking a place beside Deprivation, "It's the only logical explanation; the fool was going on about something wanting its son, until he finally shut up." Just as he spoke the thief glanced up at his interest, whose face had transformed into the picture of terror. For a second the expression remained, set so strongly that it could have thought to be stone, although it soon fell into a composed respectable look. His tanned features fell into place, before the general piercing determination retook its rightful throne.

Hammer was less than tactful about her stares. Whereas Reaver had been quick with his glances, due mostly to the fresh memories of their kiss, the larger lady was openly gawping at his handsome face. Even as the man below coughed yet another fountain of inked blood, she insisted on keeping her eyes trained on the tanned structures and well-sculpted details.

Deprivation uncomfortably acknowledged her before calling, "Please, citizens of Aurora, I implore you – go to your homes, and do not leave them unless necessity strikes. On my honour, I swear you shall be protected until the truth behind this attack is uncovered."

As if he were a messiah, the leader raised his hands to beckon them away from his crippled patient. They scattered mindlessly, herding themselves into the oddly proportioned houses whilst the Spire-Guard's filed themselves outside. Serious expressions were worn by all of them, hinted only by the tint of confusion; this was even present on young Desolation, who had been chatting to a lovely buxom barmaid not moments before.

Hours were spent trying to revive him, and only after three straight of CPR that Deprivation finally called an end to it. The men put their knees to the ground as a sign of respect for the injured person's passing, their heads bowed whilst silently praying for his safe arrival and their quietness completely silencing the clearing. If Reaver were in the mood he would have tried to break it; however considering the circumstances, he allowed them to complete the strange ritual before he spoke.

"There shan't be any need for burial," the immortal said matter-of-factly, "If I recall, our deceased crew member simply withered away after death, didn't he? I think the time for games has ended Deprivation, even though I will so miss them – what is going on in this confounded place, and why did you see fit to drag us into this mess?!"

The leader's face became contorted with a frown. Gently, he closed the eyes of his dead patient, whispering some sort of ritual prayer to him that consisted of, "Peace with you, friend, for the Spire-Guards watched your death," until he found the strength to turn to the heroes. Garth had appeared now with a face like thunder, accompanied by Sparrow who had been enjoying a lovely nap before the morning sun, although Deprivation felt slight comfort looking into the mage's eyes. There was something there, something that reminded him of a not so difficult time, long ago in his boyhood...

"Brother...I think it is time we shared our origin," Solace muttered into his ear whilst placing a hand on his shoulder, "Our Lady will understand, if we are to protect her and our Spire from the oncoming onslaught. Let it pass that we shall not think less of you as a leader, but simply more of you as a guardian."

The words provided little comfort as the stranger began, "Reaver has knowledge of my background, although the majority of you remain uninformed. To save my Lady I shall keep most of it to my chest and tell you a little of us; please understand, we do not keep these facts to hurt you, but rather to protect you from your own mind. What I am about to part with you may never leave this place and, if we are so fortunate to have this vow taken to heart, the Spire-Guard's shall not come to take your life."

Instantly, a silence descended around the small group of heroes. Only Reaver, who had known this information beforehand, portrayed a bored expression on his face, in an attempt to look indifferent to Deprivation's presence. The leader allowed shock to settle before continuing.

"Four thousand years ago, I was birthed into the greatness that is the Spire. Many trials have I faced in its presence, none quite so different and yet still unlike one another, but it has moulded me into the man you see before you today. However, I owe my expert skills to one man alone, who I have seen in no form since he left the Spire."

Hammer was sobering up now, just enough to understand what was happening. The world swam around her as if she was in a big ocean, though her nods and odd gestures pointed to her primitive understanding. Reaver gazed at her in a mixture of pity and disgust – who would have thought she would even be standing right now? It was a surprise she had not collapsed to the floor and caused a small earthquake.

"Your father?" Garth's voice cut into the gathering dark, "And your father taught you to keep secrets from others, am I correct in saying?"

"My father taught me the importance of protecting my brothers. Whether that was fulfilled by way of dishonesty or deceit, it did not matter; my family were the priority, underneath my duty to the Spire. However, during my final challenge to be appointed Spire-Guard, my father went insane, and killed all of the men and women that he had once sworn to protect. I was...lost. Without the love of my mother, my uncles, cousins or aunts, and with my father's traitorous face absent from my life, I found solace in only one motive – to rebuild the Spire-Guard's great heritage, which would one day rival the old legends that were scribed upon the jagged walls."

Like it pained him to speak of it, Deprivation fell silent for a moment. He could remember the blood-curdling screams of his family dying, so clear that it could have been only yesterday, as the gut-wrenching fear of his father grew ever present in his mind. What great man had such a terrible past? What great person could overcome such forms of disaster? If only he had not been such a coward...maybe his father would have been killed right there...

Reaver felt his own emotions now. When he saw the pain twinkling in his interest's eye, it caused something to stir within him that he thought long dead. Great urges wanted him to be beside Deprivation right now, to offer his hand as a form of comfort. However he remained rooted to his spot, as he leaned against his dress cane to observe the scene.

"I am sorry for your loss, Deprivation. Who knows what trials you have suffered through – to judge you so instantaneously was wrong. I am sorry." Garths' words were mixed with both sympathy and regret, even though the mage still pined to know what all this had to do with their mission.

"Thank you. Forgive me, for I cannot tell you how this is relevant now; just know that, no matter what happens on our journey out there, I shall sacrifice life and limb to protect you. All of you." A meaningful glance was cast at Reaver, as if to say Deprivation would keep a special eye on him, before he turned to his men. Solace gazed at him with both love and admiration, although confusion lined his features in addition.

"Do you not mean 'we,' brother?"

"No, Solace, I meant my words. You and the men are to stay behind, here in Aurora, so that these citizens are protected should the darkness arrive before I. My brothers, be safe, for if my leadership has taught you anything, it is that I love you all."

Like a family, they quickly bowed their heads together and shared a moment so personal that it could not be felt by others. Their eyes were directed at the floor but their hearts open to one another – it was their blood-chains that tied them together, but their heart choice that kept them friends through every ounce of madness. Finally, the Spire-Guards broke apart, causing Deprivation to turn to the heroes with a look of seriousness descended over his features.

"Prepare. We journey at dawn."


	34. Young Dreams

Reaver had strange dreams that night. One might have thought they were symbolic with their melting clocks, flaming portraits and blood-chained trees, but the thief was certain he had eaten some contaminated food. Why else would someone so uncaring be in this place? A place that hummed with higher purpose, as the whispering breeze chattered through unkempt grass banks, which stretched for miles. The immortal sighed exasperatingly – he did not feel like walking so far, especially after recent events.

Thoughts suddenly clouded his dream, changing the setting around him like it was merely a charcoal drawing. The great tree's chains snapped at once before the breeze halted, whilst the shaggy grass-hair started to burn and wither as it were; Reaver admired the destruction around him but only because he was so used to it. What point was there to these things? What was the point to dreams, aspirations and hope? Once Deprivation had kissed him, and then acted as though he were disgusted with himself, dark thoughts had hung inside the thief's mind, which may have been the real reason for this dream.

Of course, he would never admit that – love had been a pathetic little emotion, one that cost him everything he had once adored. To say he had any feelings for the leader, above interest and desire, would be an abomination on what he now fashioned his beliefs on. No; Reaver did not love Deprivation. He merely...admired the way he had been structured. He simply loved the whispering secrets he held, hidden away in a mind more ancient than the thief's oldest book, and wanted nothing more from him except compliance. Any other emotion would have been senseless, blind even.

As he thought this, the great constructs of his mind had almost disappeared. A white background stretched out now, no variation in its shade, to the extent where Reaver dared not reach out in case he hit a wall. There was only one thing he could focus on now, which sparkled at the other end like a drop of water in a dried-up well. It glittered playfully at the thief, beckoning his feet to move and bring himself closer, even though he willed against it.

Although, his curiousity soon got the better of him.

Only a few footsteps were taken, but the glittering speck charged up to him at such a rate, he might have screamed and rushed out of the way. Never had anything been so quick before, so athletically gifted that it would have raced against a new freight train and won. What was this thing? And why was Reaver's hand reaching out for it, almost independently from his own body?

"Don't be an imbecile!" He taunted himself as the action took place, "Wake up, before you drag us into something that I have no intention of caring about!" However, his hand did not care for his words or his importance. Instead, the thief found himself touching this strange twinkle, and feeling the force of a million suns explode at his very fingertips.

It was sudden. Where there had been white, now stood black, which started twisting and contorting itself into all manner of shapes. Jagged edges began to form as a dark stormy sky reigned overhead, thundering with a raw energy that Reaver only wished he could possess. Hm, maybe another deal with the Shadow Court was due? The immortal imagined being able to control a storm; with that power circulating in his hands, there was no end to the business deals he would be able to make.

But these thoughts did not remain for long. Soon enough the shapes had been constructed and the sky had settled slightly – its thundering claps no longer deafened the thief's ears – whilst people he did not know rushed past him. They paid no heed to Reaver's existence, nor did they stop to question why there was a stranger in their midst; rather, each of them rushed to a small alcove located directly in front of them as if he had not materialised at all.

"My brothers and my sisters! Please, allow my life-partner room to breathe, as this joyous occasion takes much energy from a Spire-Guard's person," this voice belonged to a man, and was so deep that it almost rattled the walls around him. Reaver smiled slightly as this happened, remembering the equally matched voice of Deprivation, although his interests had sparked slightly. 'A Spire-Guard?'

For a moment, the thief wondered where he should go. Whilst the secrets of his guide could be right in front of him, simply begging to be revealed, a strange nagging feeling had risen in his gut. It were as if he had suffered a sudden change of heart; what manner of man was he turning into? Reaver did not think twice about what he wanted, what he craved, so why did he feel such shame in peaking at Deprivation's life now?

It was a struggle to move past the crowding bodies at first, since it did not seem like they knew he was there. A few expert footsteps were required, a twirl or two, but soon he found what they were admiring, and felt a strange tug at his heart. It was unusual...it was beautiful.

"Chaos, look," a woman with the glossiest brown hair muttered as she clutched a small bundle in her arms. Weary, beautiful features stretched along her sweet oval shaped face, whilst the small cloth-blanket wriggled softly in her slender white arms. She was, by far, one of the most aesthetically gifted women Reaver had ever laid eyes on, despite the apparent tiredness that plagued her soft details.

The handsome man beside her was scarily familiar. Somewhere before, the thief had seen those details and admired his face, but where escaped him at this moment. As the stranger leaned down to see what his wife was looking at, the answer suddenly came to him. Deprivation's father! And that meant...that meant that the bundle in that woman's arms...

"Yes, Enlightenment?" A loving tone tickled his voice, "Our son, his eyes are the piercing emerald that my own fathers were. Should we allow that to will our decision, on what we shall name him before his Spire-Guard ceremony?"

"No my love; his face is so like yours that if we were to name him on that, it would be unjust and unreasonable. Wilbur shall be his name until he reaches peak skill, such as you did, and becomes the Spire-Leader." Her soft silk voice was laced with remnants of pain, most likely from the strains of childbirth, though Reaver was now more interested in the bundle. It took only a moment for the cloth to fall, to reveal the creature they were all murmuring about, which caused the thief's heart to skip.

The infant was blessed with piercing emerald eyes, identical to Deprivation's in every aspect, whilst his tanned skin seemed to almost radiate potential. There was a burning ferociousness in his eyes that rivalled Reaver's own, although it looked as though his youthful interest had yet to disperse. The Spire-Guards around him cheered before parting their ways, probably in an attempt to give Enlightenment some privacy.

"My Wilbur," she purred softly, clutching her new born to her chest, "You shall be the bravest Spire-Guard of us all. My treasure, my love, my all."

On that note, the scene suddenly froze. Enlightenment and Chaos stayed still in that position, pouring over their brand new son, whilst the others were nowhere to be seen. The thief admired his interest as a baby, the perfectly sculpted details and the glowing eyes, before yet another familiar face drifted into the scene. Usually he would have been exasperated to see the hood of Theresa and the regular hunched figure – however, considering the circumstances, Reaver was more pleased than ever to lay eyes on her.

"What you have seen before you is something that shall never happen again," she muttered, sounding as if there were two voices rather than one, "The birth of a Spire-Guard was a joyous occasion, for another link in the chain was forged. This link is unbreakable. To become part of this land, to be part of your heart's desires' world, an unspoken vow must be passed between both parties."

"And what makes you think I desire to be part of this place?"

"I see a thousand different dimensions Reaver. Any secret you think you possess I have witnessed, no matter how deeply hidden it may be. Remember just one thing; a Spire-Guard's love is no toy to be played with. You will understand this in time. Be gone."

Reaver awoke with a start. He was lying in the uncomfortable lumpy bed, sweating as if he were a pig in the slaughterhouse, before looking over at the night sky. It was the small hours of the morning now, and the weak rays of sunlight were painting the black belt a strange blue/grey. It was just a dream! A dream caused by some sort of bad cocktail, or possibly an awfully prepared soup dish that he had consumed that night.

Although, the thief could not stop thinking about Deprivation.


	35. Immortal Aid

Garth was preparing himself for the day ahead. It had been peculiar to see such events unfold, especially when they seemed to have no explanation aside from magical, although the mage dared not dabble in those thoughts. After the revelation of Deprivation's true age coupled with the knowledge of his origins, he was beginning to wonder whether his research had finally began to take its toll. There seemed little sense in the world these days.

However, these were all locked away in his mind. Since he was looked up to so often as the voice of wisdom and reason, there was no point in allowing chaos to envelope his own thoughts, as it would surely only aid in the failure of this mission. Whatever reason the stranger had for bringing them to this place, be it revenge-based or trustworthy, Garth had faith that it would eventually benefit all parties involved. He simply had to – there would be turning back when the sun rose for the next morning.

Sipping on a flagon of ale, the mage carefully packed some light reading materials in a small mildew covered crate. Hopefully a strong horse or two would be available for these seven-hundred paged books, with the strength of twenty men combined, so that he would not be forced to choose between his spell scriptures and his personal enjoyment. Garth frowned to himself slightly; he imagined whatever mode of transport Deprivation had arranged would be dedicated to hulling Reaver's possessions, though he dare not challenge them over this. Many times he had seen the glint in the leader's eye, directed at the hero's general existence, and it caused him to believe favouritism would be ripe within their travels.

Was it so much to ask for one evening without the thief?

In his homeland, Reaver had been true to his word. They rarely ever crossed paths and, when they did, both men acted as if they did not know each other. In fact hardly a glance was ever passed between them, except during bard's lofty songs of great Spires being constructed or heroes determined to clean up the world.

That was not the immortal's aspiration – rather, it was far from it. He cared little for the well-being of others, often describing the poor as 'filthy little vagabonds,' and cocking his gun at whoever asked for help. Even though Garth dedicated much of his life to study the mage still helped to the best of his abilities, in the form of charitable donations or the giving of his old clothing. To not feel anything at another's suffering was inhuman, unnatural; if he did not know any better, the man could have believed his 'friend' to be born of magical means.

Suddenly, there was a knock at his door. The droning sound pulled him from his thoughts, drawing his attention to the fact he had spilt ale on his favourite coat, which caused him to scowl at it before rushing to the entrance. Who would be disturbing him at this time? It must have been reaching the early hours of the morning by now!

"Yes?" His voice was tipped with frustration, although it soon dissipated when he saw Solace standing there. The Spire-Guard's eyes were fraught with agitation, like he was in turmoil over his leader's decision, whilst he bowed his head in a manner most respectable.

"I am sorry for disturbing you at such a late hour, sir, but my urgency to speak with you could not subside. Do you favour I return tomorrow before you leave? I shall do as you wish," it was obvious what he had to say was important, even though he offered to leave if Garth preferred. The sparks of energy in his eyes, the minute lightning bolts that tore through the sparkling blue depths, were enough evidence for the mage.

"Not at all. Come in," he signalled for Solace to sit on the rickety lone chair; however the Spire-Guard chose to stand and look out at the night sky. Something about the black belt, studded so carefully with diamond stars, always calmed his mind when he had urgent messages to pass.

"My brother has taken it upon himself to lead you through the desert," he began with a voice as grim as death, "A noble attribute of Deprivation's character, that he takes his duties so seriously and without fear. You understand that I have lived many years with him – three thousand and four hundred, to be exact – and to lose him would be an injury I would never recover."

"I understand that your bonds are very strong," Garth's own speech was laced with confusion, probably a hint towards the strange message, "I couldn't imagine losing someone so close to my heart."

"Deprivation has suffered great grief in his time, of which he used to fuel our training. Never before has there been a man so dedicated to his cause, nor will there ever be another, as my leader shows such courageous tendencies in the face of imminent danger. Do you understand why I am parting this knowledge with you?"

Garth pondered on every meaning he could think about, even sampling some of the lesser known theories that he had come across in his time, before shaking his head, "No."

"My brother's heart has been captivated. With the thief his love resides, despite his insistence that it is merely a business transaction," Solace's eyes lost their spark, replaced by a seriousness that the mage had never seen before, "To possess a Spire-Guard's love is an honour, and with it comes absolute dedication. We have heard the tales of Reaver's conquests – if Deprivation were to become yet another toy, then all would be lost in the eyes of our Spire. Understand that I am not threatening you; rather, I implore you to help my brother find his way into the thief's approval, so that he might be happy in a land we do not know."

The man was confused for a moment. He did not understand why the need for their relationship came so greatly, especially when the distress in Solace's words told him he was not pleased about this bond. Why could Deprivation not have a simple fling with Reaver, and return to find his true mate another time? They had lived for thousands of years! If anything, they should have welcomed the off-and-on flirtatious tension, as a small way of coping with their duties.

"What makes you think I can help? I've told Reaver countless times before – he is better of staying away from me, since I feel as though I might end his prosperous life if we are too close."

"I do not believe you can help. Forgive me for my honesty; you were the final candidate for aiding us," a chuckle sounded from the Spire-Guard's lips, "The one you call Hammer has been chosen over, causing her to become unsuitable for any position past spitefulness, and Sparrow is silent on the matter. You are the only man I could turn to for aid, though I would have been fond of an alternative procedure."

An understanding seemed to pass between the two men. It was simple; Deprivation's heart had been captivated, which meant that it would never pass on to another soul. If he were not to find peace with Reaver, than he would not find peace with another, as his affection would still be soft for the thief and his mind would rest little from his existence.

"I will see what I can do," Garth sighed in reply whilst crossing his arms over his chest. This would not be an easy task to undertake, but the relief circling in Solace's features made the mage smile softly.

"A thousand blesses onto your person, mage," he muttered as he walked to the door, "May you find peace in your future, for the Spire-Guards are ever thankful to your selflessness."

With those parting words, Solace disappeared through the entrance and made his way back to bed. There was a busy morning ahead and, coupled with the fact that he would have to help train Desolation, he wanted to have all the sleep physically possible before the moon subsided. Garth watched him walking away until he had vanished, turning back to his ale-stained coat with a smirk on his face.

If only that was his hardest task.


	36. Fights of Enjoyment

The sun poured in weakly through Deprivation's window. Thin rays caressed his tanned features, gently prying his emerald eyes open, whilst the other Spire-Guards were roused from their peaceful slumbers. The leader groaned; why did morning have to come so quickly? He would rejoice at a few extra minutes, spent in this comfortable bed with his brothers curled around him.

"Dep, what are our orders?" Solace was the first to break the silence, as his other team members tried to gather their strength and shake off the chains of sleep. Desolation, who had been sleeping at the furthest end, attempted to roll out of his own accommodation with a skilled move, although this was completed by his well-built frame crashing into the lone nightstand and shattering it to pieces. None of the surrounding men even chuckled; their worry was of genuine means, and their motherly affection with the youngest man caused a light scarlet flush to run through his cheeks.

"Do you feel the mornings to be unnatural?" Muttered the Spire-Leader whilst he rubbed his piercing eyes, which glinted that dazzling emerald as the sun reflected off them, "Every sunrise I have suffered through here seems to grow worse – each eve that comes I breathe a sigh of relief, for I can rest in the dark for a few more hours until the light heightens this world's flaws."

He did not believe these words, but Solace understood what his friend meant. The leader wanted no light to caress this putrid earth, not unless the Darkness had been defeated, because it only hid their enemy behind a swath of deceiving beauty. A delicate smirk played on the Spire-Guard's thin lips; if he were cruel, there might have been a comment on how Reaver's lovely looks contained a devious mind.

"Of course they are unnatural. We have yet to become accustom to this place's traditions, and our routines in the Spire were quite different to our routines now. Do not fret my brother, as I am sure we shall soon find it as familiar as our own heartbeat," the Spire-Guard put a hand to his broad chest, grasping at the soft blue fabric that covered it as a smile stretched on his lips. Deprivation returned the smile, though only because he did not want to begin a discussion of his discomfort in front of the men.

"I am trusting leadership of the team to you, Solace," he began whilst straightening his tunic which, amazingly, had remained fresh after sleep, "Your guidance has never led me down a troublesome path, nor has it deviated from our mission's true path; because of this, I know you are the wise choice to lead our brothers in my absence."

A warm grin spread through the group, as if it were a fire racing through forest trees, before their leader found nine bodies suddenly jumping on him. The weight of nine muscular men being forced onto his person caused the breath to escape from his lungs, which resulted in a small yelp whilst the leader kicked out against them. Each individual Spire-Guard wore a mischievous grin on his face, one that twitched with an emotion they had not experienced for a long time – joy.

The simple enjoyment that came from having a playful scuffle with your brothers, attempting to prove their love and yet their dominance also in this affectionate fight. It had been one of their past times years ago, when their innocence reigned supreme in their small enclosed world, and long before they became aware of trouble's existence.

"Stop! Stop!" Deprivation laughed as his team began their unique tickle torture, "I beg of you! I submit!"

With those words, in addition to a warm smile from the leader's soft lips, the team rose and separated to their own spaces. They waited for a moment, eyes still directed at Deprivation, preparing for the morning's harsh orders which were likely to come. But they saw the soft glint in their leader's piercing emerald eyes, the whisper of grateful joy that rushed through them so fiercely; he did not want to labour his brothers today with such dreary tasks, although their mission came before his wishes.

"Your tasks involve clambering to the whim of the Auroran people, as well as ensuring their safety in these dark times," the stranger explained as he began to prepare for the early morning start. It must have only been five o'clock now, and they could not even hear the heroes rousing from their deep slumbers, "If any object to your handling of situations, change them to make your methods more efficient. I have faith that you shall do them in a way that will not only satisfy our responsibilities, but also the people that give them to us."

The rest of their morning went on in the same fashion, only Desolation required extra guidance on his tasks for that morning. As a training Spire-Guard who still had yet to complete his final challenge, Deprivation felt it was unnecessary to put many assignments upon his compulsory lessons, and so he instructed for the 'young' man to follow Solace around for his jobs. It was a source of great shame – if his brother did not trust his capability of handling chores, what was the point in being a Spire-Guard? Why was he the only one who could not do these things? A frustration started to tighten in his stomach as he clenched his teeth, nodding angrily at the tasks before making himself scarce downstairs.

Reaver awoke sometime after seven o'clock, and did not begin preparations until nine. Though Deprivation did not want to address the thief himself, due to obvious tension between them at that moment, slight twitches of irritation lined his features whenever he noticed the slow packing or the half-arsed attempts at speed. It was all working to his counterpart's favour of course; he simply wanted to know that he was on the leader's mind and, by the twitching anger on his face, Reaver knew that his presence was ever-felt. A smile played on his thin pink lips as he continued to pack a silver-plated set of candlesticks, in addition to mountains of clothes.

"Are we prepared then?" Garth asked, his arms displaying another crate of Reaver's possessions. A warm smile was passed between the mage and the leader before his weathered face turned to their 'friend'.

"As prepared as we shall ever be for such a task," Deprivation replied, "Do you have any other tasks that need to be undertaken before we leave?"

The question caused Garth to turn, staring into the stranger's eyes as if he were about to disappear. Flash backs of Solace's conversation with him returned, the highlighting structures of his speech that detailed the need for his brother's desire, which caused a certain smile to erupt on his face as he dropped his burden carelessly. Reaver glanced up in irritation, although he refrained from saying anything.

"Oh, nothing you can help too much with my friend," the mage replied with a glint in his blind eye, "I shall find a way to deal with it."


	37. Refined Thoughts

**Deprivation's Journal**

_Only days have passed since I last vented my feelings, and yet I find the need to bother your pages again. Staining your snow white sheets with the reality of my thoughts brings a tear to my eye – a pen is the mightiest weapon to wield when there is nothing but anger in your heart._

_Reaver and I shared an embrace, one so beautiful that it could have caused the hardiest fool to weep, though it was entirely my fault that it took place at all. How could I have let one such as he take my heart, when I know that my duties are of the greatest importance? That madman, that thief; he shall be the end of me if I do not watch my steps, although still my heart screams for his presence like a stray for water. My Lady, forgive me, for I did not know he would become so significant in my mind…_

_Maybe this meeting was made in the Heavens? Such grace does this man possess, finely detailed by his luxury and general lack of care, which causes my heart to skip whenever I set my eyes upon him. A well-adjusted smile would be thrown in my direction from his lips and I fear my knees would collapse underneath me, sending me head-first into a world I could never truly inhabit._

_To give into these thoughts would surely see my life ended. Reaver cannot kill me – he simply does not have the means to – but he relishes in the knowledge of his power over my decisions. I beg to our Spire to keep my mind trained, so that my years of loyalty would set like concrete in those dark recesses I retain, and still the thief sneaks in with an intention to my love. If I were to sacrifice it all for him, every last thing that ever made me Deprivation, than he would take it without thought for its meaning. Fate would be so cruel to see me cast away...Reaver would remain in power of my very being, though he would not treat it like an honour._

_Solace seems to think that we are crafted for each other. He tells me our hands are perfect fits, that our eyes shine like stars whenever we are to gaze at each other; I assume he has been drinking without my knowledge. Love may flutter in my soul but I am still focused on our priority. The thief can take my Spire-Guard heart if he wishes it and he shall find that I care little when he throws it away – there are much more important matters to attend to besides his existence, which I fear he would not take too kindly to knowing._

_These remaining tasks are cloaked by a heavy coat of foreboding, and I can already sense that my men are feeling the effects. Their eyes are dead whenever I look upon them, their mouths not stretched into inane grins as they so often have been before; however we are blessed for such work ethic, since they continue to slave away in the hot sun. My brothers understand the necessity that comes with each requirement, even when they seem so far set from our previous intention._

_On occasion I will look at my brothers and remember another time. I recall memories that they have created in our time, uncountable antics that they have performed, which causes a smile to erupt on my face in no unnoticeable manner. If these days were no longer filled with the dread of the Crawler, than I might be convinced to gather them up like children once more and show them that this world is nothing to fear. Like my father before me and his father before him, our journeys reside within the Spire, where the greatest legends have been told over again._

_Hm. I must remember our status. These men in front of me now, although once so small that they could fit in the palm of my hand, have each completed a most brutal ritual of training. They are no longer children. They are Spire-Guards – every single one of my brothers possesses the ability to kill me and each other, yet their minds are so equipped with competence that they feel no need for this power. We are the true protectors of the Spire! My father, in light of all his shortcomings and betrayals, could have never produced such fine specimens for our order if he spent a million years working. They have done their ancestors proud._

_They have honoured me with their service all these years._

_Desolation has become rather bothersome. Once I had passed the notion that they were to remain here, in favour of protecting these fine Auroran people, I observed his character becoming a head more erratic. Each step he takes is laced by an emotion I do not know…if I were a fool, my mind would wager that he is thinking of betraying us. It could not be true, could it? A man like my brother, who cannot even fully complete his training, would never see fit to attack the only people who still believe in him…would he?_

_Silence, man! Of course he would not; what types of mistrust are you birthing in your mind? To formulate such a thought in your head is close to treason, and I shall not allow words of mistrust to begin their ugly existence after so many years. Desolation is the closest thing to a child you can ever possess – when you start to call him a betrayer, there shall be no light left in that pathetic little world of yours! No child, no love, and no hope!_

_Forgive me for that short outburst. I should not write down such thoughts, when I know that there is hope yet in this world. Whenever I feel the blistering heat of the hot sun on my face, gently caressing my accursed features that resemble what I despise, it seems that my mood can become rather hostile. I abhor this sunlight. What I would not give to be back in the cold stone arms of my Spire, nestled in that small coffin once again so that these harsh realities could not find their way into my thoughts…_

_I must put a halt to this entry. The mage is requesting my assistance. _


	38. Heated Talks

The sun beat down mercilessly over Aurora as the heroes gathered their things. Its fiery rays stroked every surface available, baking them with red-hot whips, whilst the people had abandoned their activities in favour for the shade. There were very few days that matched this one in heat; of all the times for it to be so hot, why did it insist on the most inconvenient? Deprivation could hardly see straight for the sweat falling in his piercing emerald eyes, which caused him much strain when handling Reaver's things and giving last orders to his men.

Much time had been spent preparing now, and every party involved was eager to finally get this mission underway. So long did they spend their time in seclusion, locked away on a ship with men they did not know, that it would have been a pleasant change to wander the heat-drenched desert just beyond this town. Even the thief was looking forward to it – what better way to spend his time, than looking for hidden treasures in a vastly unexplored location? So much potential, and yet these hapless fools that inhabited the land had no want for the possible gemstones it could possess.

Still, Reaver should have been thankful for that. After all there would be no struggle to obtain what he wanted, if it only ranged out to a few menial jewels, of which he had thousands back in his Albion home. No; it was obvious what the immortal wanted was far beyond his reach, wrapped up in the character of a man almost as mysterious as he had been. Even after he had donned his finest clothes, which were suitable for this blazing heat since they only covered his body and the top half of his legs, Reaver found that his interest was more pre-occupied with other matters.

"My brothers," Deprivation halted as they stood outside the gate. Each of his men stood behind him, waiting for his final order with a fierce determination in their hearts, although they soon eased when a light spark flashed in his eyes. Their leader was not passing yet another task onto them. He was trying to say his final farewell.

"I would be persuaded to say goodbye, if I believed this would be our last encounter," Solace spoke before his friend, which caused a familiar irritation to pass through his gaze, "But we could never part from each other, my friend, for where else would I find that irrationality that you so charmingly possess? Be safe in the land we do not know, and fret not about our duties here – once you are well on your way, we shall begin the necessary labour."

A smile danced on Deprivation's tanned features, one that told the team of his pride, before he opened his mouth to speak, "There is no doubt in my mind that you shall bring justice to us, though I would not have wasted a sentence on announcing it. No, my brothers, I do not fear that you shall shirk your duties; be safe in this land we do not know, and I shall return to you when this deed is done. Until our reunion – farewell."

Simple, elegant and (for a Spire-Guard) to the point. Deprivation knew that his team would satisfy these people, protect them with all their strength, but the leader could not shake his ill feelings towards Desolation. Even though his young faced had twitched with sadness at his mentor's leaving there had been a spark of something in his eye, a spark that warned the seasoned man of mischievous thoughts. Why did he grow wary whenever gazing upon those familiar features? What man was he becoming, when his own brother caused him great discomfort?

"Don't mind us," Reaver called irritably from the heroes, "We'll just continue roasting in this fervour whilst you have a pleasant chat, shall we? Hurry up, man!"

Deprivation's eyes flashed once more, an action that was noticed by his teammates, before turning to smile softly at his interest. There was nothing the leader wanted more than to keep him happy, even though they were not anything above business associates. Well, at least that was what he kept insisting to Solace…

"My apologies, thief," he mumbled whilst passing a last glance to his men, "You understand that we have never separated before, and this experience shall be entirely new on our perspectives. Please do not judge my odd moods so harshly; these men are my brothers." It was a plea to Reaver's better side, which was pitifully small and ever decreasing with the years he lived. Not many had managed to tap into it with respectful begs, much less people who had previously tried to lie to him and kept secrets, although the thief felt himself soften when looking at Deprivation's slightly confused face.

This was going to be a struggle for him and, though he denied it so persistently, the immortal had no intention of seeing someone he cared greatly for in any amount of distress. No one would cause his interest any pain for the coming weeks, if the eccentric hero had any say in the matter.

"Certainly, my dear man," he replied in a voice slightly etched with affection, "If there is any night you feel that your loneliness persists, don't hesitate to pay me a visit in my accommodation…"

Again the leader smiled softly; however this was more to hide his embarrassment than anything else. He could almost feel the eighteen eyes boring into the back of his head, the soft smirks that passed through his formation of men, which caused a clenched fist to ball up at his sides. What possible reason would he have for visiting Reaver? Especially when nothing could ever happen between them.

"A generous offer, thief. Thank you, but I shall not require any extra company other than what I have already received," the blue tunic man gathered up a small crate and looked for the transport he had arranged. In Aurora they had no use for horses, with their unsuitable hooves and ridiculously puny might, but he had requested for their equivalent to be prepared when they set out to leave. Could it be that they were not available? If there was nothing they could use as a carrier, he would have been forced to haul these materials all the way through the desert! What of his other responsibilities? The leader would never be able to attend to them if there were such burdens in his arms!

Suddenly, a laugh erupted from Garth's lips. So violent was this outburst that it sent the man hurtling to the floor, writhing on it as a fit of joy racked his body like a plague of locust on a field. The mage was still thrashing in the sun baked sands when Deprivation turned to see what was so funny, and the resulting sight almost caused him to drop the crate. This could not have been their transport…could it?


	39. Beastly Thoughts

Deprivation awkwardly admired this fine monster, stroking its golden pelt softly as he gazed over the beast. Never before had he been on one of them, not in all his four thousand years of life, whereas there was much experience in the leader's heart of horse-riding. Was it possible that they were similar breeds? Looking past the humped back and the long golden neck, it was a reasonable assumption to make – this strange creature could have been a distant relative of the all too traditional horse.

"Forgive my repetition; what do you call this thing again?" He asked the monster's owner, who had so expertly led it through his gold-crested sun baked town. The man possessed a weathered face, deep tan lines scoring their way down like some sort of scar, and a youthful vigour in his nature despite the obvious hardships he had been through. They were represented by his sandy clothes, which seemed to be held together by a few barren stitches and a poorly crafted brass clip at the side.

"It's a camel," his voice was forgiving, as if he were speaking to a child, although there were faint traces of irritation within, "there are only a few left since they all started disappearing. Not quite sure where they go out in the desert but that doesn't matter, does it? These are the only ones left in all Aurora – please treat them well, and read the instructions for their grooming. I've put them in the satchels." The owner pointed towards two over-stuffed bags on the first camel, before he turned and made his way back down to the town. There was a jingle sounding as he walked, most likely the money he had gained from finally making use of those beasts, though there was very little joy in his movement.

The robotic way in which he walked, clutching the last strands of Auroran pride he possessed, caused great sadness to Deprivation as he gazed. Camels were a peculiar example of animal but still, the Spire-Guard reminded himself that humans were certainly the most erratic species he had ever studied. Even when they were walking on a large heap of coins or had enough food to feed their growing families, it seemed that it only fuelled their desire to possess more material objects.

"I hope you don't expect me to look after those things," Reaver's words cut into the leader's thoughts, "Repulsive creatures; I don't recall ever owning a horse that smelled like the poorhouse's lavatories!"

Deprivation turned to look at him, although any rebuke he had available quickly disappeared when their eyes locked onto each other. It was a fight to see who would give in first, who would lose the unspoken duel between the immortals, and Reaver's eyes were flashing with an almost arrogant triumph. The leader frowned when he saw it; what possible reason could his interest have for enforcing a battle between them? There was nothing to be gained from it, save some negative attention and possibly the embarrassment from the other heroes…

There was a deep pause before he finally muttered, "Do not fear, Reaver – I arranged for their arrival, so I shall take their grooming on as part of my burdens. Please fill the satchels with your belongings and, if there is a problem, make it known to me so that I might fix it with haste."

The eccentric hero felt slightly deflated as he started to put his things away. Even whilst attaching a custom-made cart onto the back of his camel (which he still found to be rather repulsive) there was an over-hanging sense of inadequacy hanging over his head.

What was he thinking? Inadequate, him? The great Reaver, of whom stories had been told all across the taverns of Albion? If there was a bard prancing around, in possession of a lute and an ounce of common sense, it would be safe to believe that every person he passed had heard the tales that the ex-pirate King created! Nothing ever happened that he did not know about and with the help of his mountains of gold; the hero was always on top of every political influence.

Reaver suddenly pulled out his trusty gun and, momentarily, aimed its barrel for Deprivation's head. No one was looking at him by this point though that was not at the top of his priorities; in fact if anyone were watching his actions, there was a chance that he would turn the Dragonstomper .48 on them.

"I warned you," he muttered, so softly that not even Garth could hear, "I warned you – there is nothing so tiresome as a man who won't give in, especially when he knows it's pointless to continue. What is one to do? If this game doesn't come to a close soon, Deprivation, I shan't be responsible for what happens next."

As if the immortal could actually kill him, there was a mimicked gunshot sound and he pulled back his arm. The slightly warmed barrel rim stroked his forehead softly when he did so, a strangely comforting feeling, although he quickly put the weapon back within its holster. There was no reason he needed it now and most likely he would not have to use it later; it was a great comfort to him, however, that it should be so close to his person when he required its input.

"Reaver," the hero looked up from his side to see Garth, who was holding a small pile of books in his arms and wore an odd smile on his ancient face, "You seem troubled, my friend. Would you care to discuss it?"

For a moment, he did not know how to respond. A multitude of insults came to his mind, all of which were directed at his friend's rough-looking demeanour, but the eccentric man managed to stop himself before they spilled out of his face. Nothing would come from an argument with Garth, especially not when the mage was offering such kindness in the face of their journey.

"Now tell me; why would I need to discuss anything?" he replied matter-of-factly, "Perhaps you would do better minding your own affairs, though I must say that this unexpected query has led to some rather interesting thoughts. What possible reason do you possess for it?"

The mage laughed, turning away from his 'friend' before a frown descended on his face. He could tell already that this would not be easy, that there would be some resistance on both parts for his 'questions'. It would be exceptionally hard to speak to Reaver – that man was so aware of their relationship that months would be needed to convince him otherwise, if not years.

"Simply an observation! No need to get too flustered over it," he called over his shoulder whilst putting the books away. His camel seemed to almost groan under the weight of them; however any complaint they had was not uttered in the form of a saliva infected notice.

But Reaver was still cautious. Even when they had clambered on their beasts (which took an exceptional amount of time for Hammer and even longer for Garth) the hero thought on his words. The desert was dry, lifeless, all except for some strange cries on the distant horizon that echoed around this gorge-like scenery. What man could be troubled in such a paradise? What man, possessing any sense of intelligence, would think about something so worrisome when such beauty lay around him?

A man such as Reaver would.


	40. Pay Attention

The air felt unnatural here. Everyone was crushed by its stillness, by its excessive silence, although Deprivation saw no reason for their fears to get in the way. Even when Garth mentioned the lack of wildlife he chose to ignore it, as if the words had fallen from the mouth of a hapless child rather than a seasoned wizard.

Mountains of orange-shaded rock stood around them, stretching high in the sky with jagged fingers, and beneath their camel's hooves lay the golden granules of sand which were so easily manipulated by the breeze. It caused a slight shiver to run up Deprivation's spine, one that was noticeable only to Reaver, whilst his hump-backed beast continued its silent rampage through this desert.

_Such heat! _The leader thought as the sun blazed down on them, _if only my Spire were here! It would surely shield my eyes away from this harshness and cradle me closely to stone walls, so that my mind would not reel in the sheer enormity of this world. How can the heroes remain so calm when travelling here? Even the shade seems to usher menace…_

His thoughts were not falling on deaf ears; though Deprivation had not voiced them, nor had he given any indication to his true feelings, the immortal two camels behind him heard every word as if they were his own. Beautiful brown eyes locked onto the leader, intently staring whilst subtle changes ravaged his facial expression, and transformed this strong willed warrior into little more than a blithering toddler. What aspects of this world drove him to such fear? What part did he dislike; was there something that Reaver could fix to make him more comfortable?

The hero did not normally care for others. If they did not possess vast multitudes of wealth or carried with them some sort of relevant information, he found it difficult to acknowledge their existence. After all, an immortal had all the time in the world on his hands, so why would he wish to spend it doing things he did not enjoy?

"I don't mean to be a bother," Reaver said, although it was obvious the opposite was true, "But this brutish thing is beginning to lose its charm." Deprivation pulled at the camel's reigns, which only succeeded in making it spit twice and set up a slower pace than before.

"I am sorry for a thousandth time," the leader sighed whilst trying to control his steed, "These creatures are far from my ideals, though we must appreciate that the people so graciously gave them to us."

"Oh yes, of course, since they asked for no gargantuan pile of gold in return," Reaver's sarcastic reply made Deprivation growl slightly, but it was so soft that not even Sparrow behind him could hear it. This man was going to drive him insane – never mind the over-bearing silence or the faint stench of death, as Reaver was sure to send his interest over the deep end before they could.

"Gold is a rather useful tool, would you not agree? There is little use for it in my land; however in yours, I find that a person's morals can become naught but faint annoyances when it is presented to them. Would a correct assumption imply that you discovered this long ago?"

It was a challenge, although not one that Reaver could so easily deflect. He did not want Deprivation bring his loose morals into this, and much less did he wish for a loss on the metaphorical battlefield; it was his own pride that caused the curt nod to be thrown at the leader, in addition to an almost sultry smile. What reason did he possess for hiding his cruel ways, when everyone present knew his rather effective methods?

"My dear boy, you never cease to amaze me with your naivety," the immortal cooed in a strange manner, "I am the great Reaver – wherever there has been a heroic deed or noble action, you can be sure that I would be throwing gold at my men to kill the perpetrator!"

After the short conversation, silence reigned supreme again. Only the camels, who were starting to lose their motivation for walking, muttered incoherent complaints in the forms of saliva balls and yowls. Deprivation sighed angrily; in what way were these creatures more suitable than horses? A fine steed had never spat at him before, nor did it produce such a smell that it would knock out a lesser man!

Finally, the sun began to set. Its slow descent down to the horizon was met with a blistering cold, which quickly swept through each of the heroes as they continued their journey behind Deprivation. It was going to be dark soon, and with that came a looming threat that Crawler could appear. They would never be able to fight him like this…

"When do you expect us to stop?" Hammer moaned, "I don't think this poor bugger can keep going for much longer!" She was, in fact, referring to her camel, which had tried with all its might to not collapse under her sheer weight. Cries sounded from deep within its throat whilst the struggled footsteps raged forward, forcing a smile to erupt on Reaver's thin lips.

"Honestly, I assumed monks would be far more in-tuned with suffering!" He called as his own trod happily in front of her, "Far be it from me, however, to suggest you remove your bulk from its back; allow it some time to recuperate. Walking could quite possibly be a new and enjoyable experience for you!"

Deprivation shot him an annoyed look, the first of what he assumed would be many. If these comments about Hammer's weight did not stop soon, the leader feared he would be of little use to save his interest from her weapon.

"There is a space just beyond the next gorge. If I am correct it should provide us with some shelter, and from there I shall be able to calculate our next movements. Do any of you require my assistance when we rest?"

"Not for any appropriate purpose," Reaver chuckled in reply, though it was more or less a serious indication. The immortal could feel Hammer's eyes boring into him, warning his words to remain slightly more educated, so that there would be no unnecessary skirmishes with her in the near future. After all, their interest had shown far more concern where he was involved – why would the hero feel obligated to consider his 'friend's' thoughts on it?

"If that changes during our slumber, than please do not hesitate to wake me. Be wary here, friends; who could ever understand what creatures lurk in the shadows?"


	41. Coldest Thoughts

That night, a fierce wind picked up over the desert. So intense was this sudden chill that Deprivation chose to cover himself, rather than leisurely lying underneath the stars as he had intended to. The heroes were trying to conserve their heat as best they could, boiling hot soup on the blazing fire as they huddled closely together, and even Reaver was less-than-sarcastic whilst he waited for his meal to be prepared.

Despite this downfall, it was rather magnificent to marvel at this place. The moon's silvery glow caressed its sands and the nocturnal creatures started to hunt for their food; it was somehow charming to see the forces of nature colliding together, in a desperate attempt to keep their precarious balance going. How…invigorating.

"Is there any requirement of my assistance?" Deprivation called from his seat, which was located further away from the camp. He had chosen to sleep here for many reasons – namely to watch out for the ever-looming darkness – however there was another motive behind his actions that he was more reluctant to admit.

If the thief sat with the heroes, he found it difficult to make their acquaintance.

"No, no, we're fine," Garth's voice was strong, although layered with a frost-bitten chatter and lacking his usual confidence. The Shifting Sands were unknown to them, no matter how beautiful the natural balance looked, and he was cautious to make his words as quiet as possible whilst still being audible. That was no easy feat in such a blowing wind.

"Deprivation, one might think you possess a death wish," Reaver cut in, with his voice a touch warmer than the mages. It may have been his thick coat that kept cold at bay, or the fact he wanted the leader to know he was fine, but the immortal's words were laced with an almost condescending tone, "Why sleep so far away, when you could be in speaking distance to me?"

Even though he spoke, Deprivation chose to ignore him. This world surrounding the heroes, in such a harmonious balance that could have been torn down by a single butterfly wing, served well in taking his attention away. It may have been for different reasons than those of his friends, but this did not matter so much to the blue-tunic warrior.

Somewhere out there was the Crawler, and he would not rest until the entity lay dead at his feet.

Finally, Hammer retired to bed. She had spent all night watching her beloved, admiring the way he moved against the brisk wind, however now there was an ever-present tiredness over her head. Why would she bother staring at the man, when he was trying his best to keep a distance? Why would anyone subject themselves to such torment? It was simply illogical…

"Goodnight," Sparrow signed, although his friend was not looking at him, "Sleep easy, now, and we'll wake you up in time to get moving." His gestures fell on blind eyes, for she simply ignored them and continued to her tent, which had been specially constructed to cover her bulk. Deprivation glanced over to them momentarily, as if regretful of watching her go, before he turned his head back to the silver-coated sands around them.

"Don't be glum about her ghastly mood," Reaver purred in his usual, unnerving tone, "Women are such temperamental beasts. I shan't be too surprised if she tries to turn her weapon on us throughout the course of tonight."

The meal was small and quiet, but filling. Garth tried to convince their guide to eat, in a hope that they would fall into an interesting conversation where he could begin his work; however Deprivation was more than content to go hungry. In fact as he sat there, watching the folding sand brush lightly over itself and admiring the strange creatures within, the idea of eating simply churned his stomach.

Soon enough, the whole team retired to their separate accommodations. Reaver was more reluctant to go than the others and spent a few moments gazing at the leader, possibly with an idea that he could entice him into a discussion, although he discarded the idea after a while before curling up under his tent. It was grander than the others in the way of accessories, what with the décor and a few glittering jewel pieces hanging off the strings, but the thief did not care too much about it for the moment. After all what was the point for such effort, when the person he wanted to attract cared very little?

Deprivation continued his watch for that night. It was hard, of course, to keep his eyes focused on every darkened corner of this desert, when such marvels scuttled about in the centre. Contorted images of strange rock formations, creatures and clouds flashed into his mind all at once like a lightning bolt, threatening to burn their staining mark onto his brain as a souvenir of sorts. This place was going to change him if he were not careful.

Suddenly he found his mind drifting. Despite his flawless record for concentration coupled with a brutal training regime, it seemed that his usually fixated thoughts were beginning to wander over more enjoyable emotions. Things like joy, happiness, admiration…even love.

Wrapped in these desert sands he could feel them, a stinging sensation of the unknown, whilst the heroes were beginning to feel in a restless sleep behind him. There was familiarity here – something that was highly sought after since his leaving of the Spire – but in these thoughts rested a gem of evil that he could not deny.

They enveloped him for a moment when he found it. All the rancid feelings he had experienced over the years, all his pain and anger, whilst the leader attempted to stem the flow with the gates of his mind. It flooded through like a river breaking a dam and threatened to wash him away, in the sea of his regrets as he so comfortably sat in his resting place. What could possibly save him from his own mind? What could drift from the darkness, and find him in the night?

"Blackness clouds his heart," a lulling voice was brought by the breeze, which Deprivation heard through his turmoil, "But rise he will, and rise he must. Those who love him need their guide now."

And with that voice came an image, one that was so glorious the leader could hardly see straight. It took a moment for him to see past the streaming light and longer for his eyes to make out the thing he was looking at but, when he finally could, a sudden shock jumped his heart and seemed to push away all the fear. All the regret, anger and hatred washed away from him, leaving the recesses of his mind, whilst all he could do was stare at this glorious image.

For in front of him, as plainly as he sat in that desert, stood Reaver.


	42. Absolute Dedication

Solace could not sleep. Despite his pillows being plumped to perfection and a harmonious tune from creatures outside, some sort of barrier seemed to exist that kept him from rest. The men around him, so peacefully snoring on their cloud-like mattresses, were oblivious to their temporary leader's plight. What madness did he have to face, when something like this had never been undertaken? They were the first Spire-Guards – probably the last as well – to ever have their mentor absent from active duty.

Finally the man decided to abandon sleep, and moved toward the window for some fresh air. Outside it seemed the moon was a beacon of beauty, which gently caressed every surface as if it were a silvery feather duster, causing a sigh to pass through Solace's lips. Even though out there, deep in the bosom of the Shifting Sands, sat the whole reason they were in such a mess, he had never felt so peaceful in a world he had no business of knowing.

"My brother, may you find some sense of joy in your quest," he muttered to the slowly building wind, "For the time you are gone I shall complete our duties, until the Spire sees fit to return our leader to his rightful place. Soon, Deprivation; I vow that your face shall never leave our minds."

There was a moment, a brief second, in which the Spire-Guard thought that his brother could probably hear. Though they were parted by an almost unfathomable distance, these pauses in time seemed to serve as a near-interaction, and caused a great relief to pass through his psyche as a smile erupted on his lips.

His leader would return to them soon enough. They would be together, like they should be, to protect their beloved Spire once more.

"Solace, why are you awake?" A familiar voice drifted into the man's ears, although he chose not to turn around, "There is much to do in this place, but nothing quite so important that it cannot wait until tomorrow. Tell me – does our leader play on your mind?" It belonged to Absolution, who had been the second Spire-Guard to complete his training since that fateful event. His eyes radiated calm, wisdom; however in truth he was one of the most enraged people that anyone was likely to meet.

"What else? I fear for him, brother, out there in a land we do not know with such anger in his heart. To go against the wishes of the leader is wrong, but I found myself struggling for breath as I bit back my protests in the matter. When he finds the Crawler...when he finds the creature who he despises so much, can we ever really say that our Deprivation shall return to us, or will it be a shell of a man quenched with bloodlust?"

Much more spilled out of his mouth than he intended. There was so much fear in his heart, that when his faithful friend returned he would be nothing like the man they had grown to love. But what could the Spire-Guard do? So many days had been spent, trying to forget the scars of the past which danced so happily in front of their eyes, and a small part of Solace hoped for this hurt to be completed quickly. A man's heart was never fully transformed into that of a warrior's, until he had tasted the bitter sweet tang of blood thirsty thoughts.

Absolution thought carefully for a moment before replying, "Our brother has never been one for pointless vengeance. He resembles nothing of my own personality; never fear, Solace, for I do not believe we shall lose Deprivation any day soon. Well – unless his heart truly calls for the thief, in which case I would not be able to comment on predicted events."

The light mischief in his eyes, mixed with an enjoyable cocktail of playfulness and enjoyment, caused a great wave of calm to wash over Solace. Despite their faults, he could not imagine a world without his family, even though his true blood-members had died long ago.

"You have noticed too?"

"Please, it is so glaringly obvious that even Desolation knows."

"Do not speak too loudly; we never have known just how far Deprivation's hearing stretches," a chuckle sounded as he spoke, however it did not stop his words, "I suppose I should not be surprised. He does not hide his emotions very well in recent days, and Reaver seems to almost revel in his discomfort when such questions are asked."

His friend nodded, taking up a place beside him before looking down at the sandy earth below. There were a few chickens pecking at it, maybe in some attempt to help fatten themselves up, whilst other nocturnal beasts were prowling happily around them. It was strange how this world balanced itself, through the use of brutal slaughtering and a few methods of disease. Absolution was thankful that he would never have to suffer such indignities. Who would ever want to die from a disease? Or, if he was commenting on death, who would undertake such a grim pastime?

"My only wish is that it were not Reaver who took his heart," he admitted shyly whilst admiring this natural world, "Such a man like he will only break our leader's spirit, just before he abandons him in a loveless world and causes the little pieces of his heart to smash."

Suddenly, Solace's eyes seemed to become alight. He had fought with these emotions on his own terms, even sampled alternative solutions to Deprivation's predicament, but to hear them fall out of another's mouth was almost blasphemous. The Spire-Guard growled a low reply, although it was more like a signal that Absolution should retire to bed.

"Our leader will not be taken the fool. Reaver would sooner have his bones broken and his neck snapped before he betrayed him, and of my experience that has never been the case before. You shall see, brother; Deprivation will become bonded, be it with the thief or with the Hammer girl."

If only he could believe his own words.


	43. Chaotic Encounter

Coldness. That was all he could use to describe it. Deprivation had woken up during the night, aware that a thousand eyes seemed to be watching him, which prompted a quick scout of the area. It was dark here, as typically the night brought with it blackness, although this seemed more soul-shattering than natural. Whatever darkness this was – manmade or creature constructed – it did not come from the world around him.

The heroes were resting peacefully when he left. Hammer had managed to turn in her sleep, sending her tent into a freefall around her whilst she could only snore; however it did not seem to wake the woman from her peaceful slumber and provided Deprivation with a light-hearted joy. It was something he had not felt in a long time, something that simply did not exist in the land of duty he hailed. But now, as he continued to wander through this desert's landscape, that sense of joy was starting to wane.

Contorted images of animals flashed in his mind, though not in the way we would typically assume. They were normal creatures, which had been documented and studied throughout time, but instead of looking like the pictures in his history books they were...different. Cloaked by a deep black whilst he continued his journey, in an attempt to shake off these sudden thoughts of death and destruction, the leader knew that these were not in his mind of his own accord. Someone...something was causing these visions; Deprivation struggled to differentiate reality and fiction as his feet trekked through this unknown land.

"_My son,_" the voice was sudden, unexpected. It caused the leader to halt in his tracks and grip his sword, bending his long legs down in a crouch so that he had a chance to defend himself – there was no reason for his suspicion, just the factor that he found it difficult to trust any faceless words, "_My boy...so close to me, yet again. Continue on, dear Wilbur, so that I can hold you against my soul once more..."_

Deprivation's reply was swift, and no more insulting than he had intended, "Only a fool would step out, if he did not know the face of the creature addressing him. Why do you not make yourself known to me? Or are you fearful that my sword is a match against your own weapons?"

In truth, fear was already pulsing through the leader's veins. He could hear, see and smell nothing now, except for this over-hanging stench of death whilst an unknown force started to clutch at his chest. The leader took a deep breath to steady himself, although in his mind there was nothing more prominent than the instinct to run.

The thin rays from the moon seemed to disappear. Sand around him, which had been so strongly influenced by a gentle breeze before, began to dissolve into a strange black solution, whilst the few animals he had spied through the dark were swallowed whole by it. Soon enough the man feared that his own eyesight was failing him, and that somehow his strong Spire-Guard genes were not working to regenerate his natural uncanny vision. He panicked.

But there was another reason for that.

"_Wilbur, my seed's creation, so young when I left yet now the beacon of manhood. Millennia ago I could have fitted you into the palm of my hand, and today I stand before a warrior that is almost fit to go against me. Such craftsmanship in your making," _Deprivation knew this voice all too well. Though now inflicted by a whispery hush and saturated with a near-deathly scent, its familiarity had not weakened within the leader's mind. It was one such voice that, even if you spent centuries of drinking, it would never leave your memory.

"I deny you the right to speak my mother's chosen name for me," his words were laced by not only anger, but a sharp pain, "For your actions have never resembled what it truly means to be a Spire-Guard. It has been over three thousand years – I still feel all my hatred for you..."

Whilst he spoke, Deprivation could feel the eyes before he could see them. They were glowing amber, accented by a madness that he could scarcely describe as the darkness around them seemed to become a little bit more woeful. The blue tunic man gulped quickly; long ago he remembered looking into those same irises, and feeling a sense of overwhelming pride come about him. It took a matter of moments for his sentence to finally finish.

"...Chaos."

"_No, not Chaos. That name no longer torments me, son, for I have outgrown the childishness that once plagued me, and have shed myself of that incessant order. One day you too, shall see the promise that my own master holds."_

There was sadness in this creature's voice, as if he still held a shred of humanity in his twisted design. Deprivation did not hear it, but whether it was because he could not or did not want to was a different matter entirely.

"I shall never be your son again," the leader, so defiant in his voice, lashed out with an expert sword-swipe, although the darkness just seeped around it, "I shall never regard myself as part of you, in any aspect of my life. For you the meaning of the Code is lost – for you, my father, nothing shall ever be light again, and I only hope that my sword will be the weapon that defeats you. I am no longer Wilbur; I am Deprivation, Spire-Leader of a team worth ten times the amount of your disgusting existence."

The man seemed to be drunk on rage as he slashed his weapon again and again, despite the fact his attacks did very little. Any normal creature would have given up, most likely retreated to save its own life, but he was too enraged to ever consider letting this traitor go. Chaos had ruined his entire world and, since his emergency team-building all those years ago, those feelings of hatred had not dissipated.

Crawler seemed to allow this for a moment, before finally calling an end to it by his 'quick' farewell, "_Do not attempt to find me, young Deprivation. There is nothing in this place for you, nothing in the Spire, and nothing that can stop me gaining my rightful power. I shall have you at my side, boy, whether you allow for it or not – you are a fine strong man, so I suppose that I should be willing to fight you, one day soon. Awake now, for I fear that my manifestation of your soul without a body could weaken..."_

It was at that moment that the leader turned, shrieking when he saw what lay so peacefully behind him. His own body - the thing he had trained for millennia – was still sleeping soundly behind him, as if nothing was ever amiss and Deprivation lay with it, although it seemed to be a relatively deep slumber as not even an appendage twitched. He continued this shriek until he woke up, at which point it turned into a more male screech in addition to rousing the heroes.

Reaver woke first, with his weapon equipped in case he needed to fend off some creatures, and then Garth who had been dreaming of potions before. Sparrow managed to hull himself off the uncomfortably thin sheepskin he had been resting on (admittedly, the adventurer had missed these accommodations) whilst rubbing his eyes, before the final hero ultimately heard all of the commotion.

"What in the bloody Hell is going on?" Her cries scratched against Reaver's ears as he pointed the Dragonstomper .48, intent on protecting his interest from whatever attacked. For a brief moment he considered turning the weapon on her, although his sights never wavered from the leader's murky black silhouette.

"Well, my dear, we have all been so rudely awoken by Deprivation's screaming," he eventually muttered, "And it seems there are no lurking nasties in sight. If I weren't so fatigued from our tiresome journey, I might be convinced to turn my on you." He spoke directly to Deprivation now, although it was more a side-comment to the large lady that struggled to her feet beside him. Like an exhausted teenager he brushed his hair to the side, a pout playing on his thin lips whilst the leader regained his composure.

"What was it, my friend?" Garth was more sympathetic than the rest, "Did something bite you? Are you in pain?" His questions, though filled with good intent, only served on grating Deprivation's nerves as he tried to retain some sense of authority.

"Nothing to concern yourselves over, I assure you," his voice was cracked by sadness, anger and upset, which only Reaver picked up on. The thief faltered for a moment, filled with an emotion he had not felt in a long time.

Worry.

"Are you certain that there is nothing the matter?" He asked, taking a step towards his interest with a hint of concern in his movements.

The leader's eyes seemed to glimmer for a moment, as if struck by a sudden emotion when Reaver asked; however they quickly dulled again whilst he resumed his previous sentence.

"Nothing to concern yourselves with. Please, lie back in your accommodations and go to sleep, for our journey is long and perilous in the morning's first rays."

There was nothing to be said. Each hero grumbled slightly before turning, and tumbled into their beds with the enthusiasm of a monk in prayer. Reaver on the other hand just stood there, watching whilst his interest collapsed back on his own sleeping arrangement and curled into a ball, like he was attempting to protect himself from some unseen entity. For a moment he thought about going to him, in the hopes that they could discuss this night away, although he quickly discarded the idea as he took his place back on the comfortable pillows.

"I'm sure he shall be content by morning," the thief yawned, as the light around him slowly started to die.


	44. Pride Will Follow

Deprivation had spent the rest of that night tending to various duties. The camels, although sleeping soundly when he went about it, were now clipped and clean, almost sparkling as the hot desert sun shone down upon their large bodies. He smiled to himself whilst tidying the last few strands of hair away, as if an inane task such as grooming had cleared his mind of memories.

By the time the heroes awoke, they noticed a spring in their guide's step. Deprivation was not one for showing content, not even when he was so obviously pleased about something; however Garth guessed that he had some pride in his work when he first looked upon the animals. Not many professional camel-breeders were so skilled with their care – for a world-wary Spire-Guard to make that much of an impact, it would take a large amount of skill indeed.

"Good morning," His calls were chirpy despite his face being touched by exhaustion, "The sun has not been up for many hours, and yet so much has been completed within our camp. Nothing has been so efficient in my experience than hard work." It seemed strange, that he was so happy about finishing such menial tasks.

Sparrow would have thought their mysterious guide was used to these ways, used to completing things that really did not matter, although by the look on his tanned face he was content with what he had done. There was no craving there, no need to press on quickly as there had been yesterday – well, they were all eager to be done with this, but none so much as he – and it was slightly humbling to see the light dancing in his eyes. What was that emotion there, festering in the depth of his soul, highlighted through those piercing irises?

Happiness? Joy? It was difficult to tell with Deprivation, who for so long had kept his feelings close to his chest, as if protecting himself from the people he did not know. How...strange. Witnessing these changes within him almost caused a change in Sparrow, though what type was a complete mystery.

Their breakfast was bland and simple, but filling. It consisted of bread and plenty of preserved foods; however the heroes were entirely quiet about it, all except Reaver who was attempting to cause a stir between them all. The Spire-Guard sighed irritably, wondering why his interest insisted on such displays when he knew they would not get the result he so craved.

"I say, today has a rather blistering heat about it," the thief muttered whilst nibbling at the tip of his bread, "If my steed were to collapse under such scorching temperatures, I hope that you would carry me in replacement?"

Deprivation chose to ignore the comment, although the most irritating thing about it was the 'steed' remark. None of them liked these camels, not in any sense, but he was proud of his work and to keep referring to them as horses caused a slight air of anger to descend upon his mood. Horses were simple to take care of – these beasts required some deep analysis.

Finally, they were able to set off. Each hero resisted groaning under the heat of the sun, whilst their hands remained clamped to the reigns of their individual transports. How could the Aurorans live like this? Under such baking conditions, which were likely to roast these foreigner's insides until they looked like gingerbread men. Even their suddenly silent guide, who had before been so chirpy, felt the mood change as the fiery orb continued to cast its glow over them.

The animals dispersed away from their mighty stallion's hooves, and Deprivation watched with a smile as they disappeared into separate burrows. Nocturnal creatures such as they should have been asleep by now, since it was so late in the morning and their purposes called for sleep by this time. The Spire-Guard sighed once more; if he were true to his purpose just like these mindless mammals, then he would be at the Spire with his team, going about their lives in the way they were meant to. This place, these sights and sounds – none of them were his to see or hear, and this world was not his to enjoy. But here Deprivation rode, in some attempt for peace in his once-glorious home.

Orange-shaded rocks started to mould into the background as they continued on, although no one was paying attention to them. The camels spit on the ground, almost as if they were aware that the leader would lose his way, and intended to help their groomer by leaving a less-than-glamorous trail through this strange place. Sand sizzled when it came into contact with the spit whilst the sun blazed down, angrily licking the orange surfaces like it wanted to burn the world. Such destruction, such beauty! Deprivation knew that they were drinking all of their water to stave off their heat, so in his head the leader was making calculations at where they were going to stop next. Hopefully a river would be nearby...

"_Let them die..."_ Deprivation's eyes widened – the voice? Where in the world had that come from? "_Let them die, my son, and afterwards I shall direct you to an oasis. The desert is filled with such possibilities...only you, Wilbur, could understand them..."_ Darkness crowded his vision, and he could suddenly hear nothing but the thudding of his own heartbeat. Whatever was in front of him, whatever lay on the path ahead, the leader could not see it as his father seemed to be in control.

"Never," his mutters were heard by Reaver, though the thief was more interested in his own affairs at the moment, "I will not kill them."

"_Did I say that you should kill them? That was your only folly; you could never listen to my exact words...perhaps if you did, your mother would still live, and the Crawler would never have been constructed..."_

"You should never cross me. I used to be your apprentice, but now I have grown to become a Spire-Leader. To let them die would be to kill them, and I shall never be anything like you."

Suddenly, the darkness cleared. What was once shrouded became clear, thrown into the blazing sunlight as it had been before, whilst Deprivation uttered a sound of relief from his lips. It was so close to a groan that Reaver took interest, turning his gaze up to see the man slumped in happiness.

"Mind on other matters?" The thief asked with a smile on his youthful features.

The leader raised his head and, whilst fixing a hard stare behind him onto his interest, replied, "No. My mind never wavers."


	45. Hurtful

There was a ridge further ahead, and the heroes decided to settle themselves in its cooling shade for the night. Deprivation chose to continue further on for a while, most likely to keep some distance between himself and Reaver, although he made an excuse that it was for 'protection' purposes. Sun rays caressed his tanned face whilst preparing the makeshift bed – they must have been nearing their destination now, since thousands of shivers were already creeping along his spine.

_If only I were able to close my mind,_ he thought as he straightened his sleeping arrangement, _there is nothing more irritating than this world's whispering, when I know my father is its controller. Soon, my brothers; we shall have our revenge, even if it demands my death in return._

He thought he was alone in his mind; however the leader did not know that, standing at the edge of their meagre camp and waiting for a suitable moment to intervene, Reaver was watching him. The thief could make educated guesses about his thoughts, about his feelings, although in truth he wished to experience them with him. Only so that he could exploit them – after all, there was still much he needed to discover – but when he looked upon the leader's features these ideas were far from him mind.

"Our guide seems to prefer sleeping alone. Do you have a problem with that?" Garth asked from his work station, which was simply a sandy floor sporting a few tent-pegs. The mage was trying to invoke some sort of emotion within his 'friend', so that it might develop into his admittance of love towards their guide, even though he knew it would take much more effort than that.

"Hm? Problem?" Reaver's reply was distracted, absent-minded, "I think you are confusing me with someone else; likely one of your less-than-admirable partners." Although his insult was a little drier than usual Garth still felt annoyed, as the immortal had absolutely no knowledge of his prior relations. For all of his worth, the mage needed to bite back a reply of distaste.

"Well, if you're so sure that his well-being isn't on your mind, then will you come and help me set this up?"

"Now why on earth would I do that? You forget, Garth – the great Reaver doesn't waste his time on such menial tasks. Rather, you should be pleading with me to conserve my energy, so that any nasties we might run into shan't be a problem!"

"If the 'Great Reaver' wants to sleep tonight, he'll swallow some of that pride and help me."

The thief narrowed his eyes but when he considered sleeping outside, found that his hands were more than willing to complete the work. Deprivation continued his solitary little set-up further ahead – it was not in his nature to be alone, and the chill of the night air was already beginning to prick at his skin. How could anyone live like this?

A smile erupted on the leader's face, since a memory had started to play in his mind. Out in the Spire they were not immune to such trials as cold weather - however it was always severely crippled when his brothers lay about him during the night. Any frosts or chills that tried to harm him, kill him with their frozen claws, were kept at bay by the warmth generating from his family's bodies. Nothing could have been so perfect than to lie with someone at night, when the world outside was being stroked by icy hands.

Garth and Reaver worked in silence for a time, whilst the sun continued to fall behind the orange-painted sky. They were each revelling in it, not caring whether either party felt uncomfortable or awkward in anyway, although they knew that it would soon be shattered by someone's comments. In fact, when they thought clearly about it, they even knew it would be Garth to do it.

"Your care for our guide has become somewhat of a topic," he joked despite the apparent knowledge behind it, "If you carry on like this, I don't think you will be able to lie about it anymore, do you?"

The immortal narrowed his eyes angrily before muttering, "Far be it from me to topple your concerns, but my affairs with Deprivation range no further than the professional. Of course he is a handsome man, and one would be extremely gracious for his company; however that one is not I, and hearing about my apparent need for him has become somewhat tedious over the months."

_Believe me, you narcissistic fool, I know!_ The mage was not vocal with his thoughts, as he assumed they would do nothing to aid his plot. Why did Solace insist on asking for his help?! And, whilst he was moaning about his position, why in the world did he decide to take on the extra duty?!

Suddenly, Reaver turned. It was an instinct really, a signal in his head that he had not expected, though the cause of his movement did not surprise Garth in the slightest. Their guide had risen from his temporary beside to stare out at the desert's landscape and, whilst in his 'haste' to stare at the monotonous orange and single-minded creatures, he must have dislodged some loose sand with his feet. His 'friend' seemed alerted by this – whatever reasons the mage possessed for hating him, there was no doubt in his seasoned mind that he had uncanny hearing abilities.

For a few moments he seemed content to stare, until finally Reaver muttered, "Don't stop your work now; I shan't be a moment," and rose himself from the ground. Garth could only watch as the immortal wandered towards their mysterious friend, who was so solemnly staring out into the blending distance like a man possessed.

"Some would have never heard you approach, thief," Deprivation's voice was quiet, so that their eavesdropping companion could not hear; "I think you have forgotten my natural ability."

"My dear Deprivation; had I attributed any manner of stealth to my footsteps, than we would not be having this pointless conversation. My sole intention is to see how you're faring, considering you seem so distracted recently?"

The leader turned and, though his pupils dilated and a glimmer went off in his eyes, kept a stony face as he said, "You are not here for that reason alone. I have read about men such as you, Reaver – to insult my intelligence like this is nearly blasphemy, although I know that you care very little for any sense of decency." His words hurt but in the typically style, his flamboyant interest simply chuckled.

"Such ruthless profiling! I cannot fathom where you have acquired such harsh perspectives of me, but I suppose being Hammer's pet-guard must include certain lectures?" His eyes narrowed past his hanging fringe, tempting the Spire-Guard to take a step towards him. The movement brought the two men closer; Reaver almost gasped.

"You confuse my senses," his admission was even quieter than before, "I have confessed my feelings before, and yet you feel the need to continue this pointless rivalry between Hannah and yourself? Let this senselessness die, thief – there are a thousand other duties I have upon my shoulders right now! If you truly cared for my perception of you, then these pathetic acts would cease and I would be able to go about my work."

Reaver's eyes widened. For a moment, it looked as though the man might have lashed out against his interest, since such a deep intensity started to build in his eyes. However after a while, the immortal simply smiled before stroking Deprivation's tanned features. The leader did not stop his action; Garth, who looked so timidly on before, decided to turn and provide them with some manner of privacy, although he really wanted to pack up his collections and run.

"Ah, Deprivation – you are only beginning to understand my influence," he muttered whilst his hand continued its gentle caress. The leader sighed and, with a certain regret dancing in his heart, turned from his beloved interest.

"I would have hoped that influence became directed upon someone else," his voice was suddenly a growl, like he wanted to hurt the thief into leaving him alone, "After all, such a man as yourself never forms ever-lasting relations."

With that, he walked. Reaver could only watch, helpless and slightly upset, as the man he was so interested in wandered away from him, and searched for something else to do in this bland tasteless wilderness. There was nothing out there, nothing that meant anything to him, although he knew in his mind that Deprivation found great discomfort here. So for his beloved to wander off into it alone, that took a large amount of distrust and anger on his part.

"_Weak..."_


	46. Blackened Ideals

That morning, Solace had dived straight into his work. There were hundreds of requests, none of them very important, but the Spire-Guard was gracious in acceptance despite the over-hanging sense of dismay on his mood. When would they be presented with a real task? Something that challenged their honed skills, rather than simple chores like sweeping a kitchen floor or even dusting old pots that lined outside the homes. He sighed whilst equipping yet another household product – when would the days start to become more fulfilling, such as they had been in the Spire?

"Brother, these jobs seem slightly less important than our skills, do you not agree?" Despair asked before he disappeared again, most likely on some quest to clear a family's lounge of spiders. Solace tried to call a respectable reply after him but by the time the words had left his mouth, his brother seemed to have already left earshot.

"Hmph," the temporary leader muttered, pulling a large sack of potatoes from someone's market stall, "These days are filled with unfathomable boredom, and yet I feel no fulfilment from my sacrifices! Perhaps if I were to work harder...Deprivation would be terribly disappointed, should I choose to leave my post for a brief rest."

Talking to himself was a substitute, an alternative for actual human conversation, since it seemed that his team were so busy these days. Even when they lay in their room for the night, with another day finally setting behind them and a promise of tomorrow on the horizon, Solace found no words that could ever comfort his brothers in their misery. This was not admirable work; these jobs they received were the responsibilities of slaves, and the people who gave them were simply idle masters.

Sun rays continued to shine down on him as he worked, causing a noticeable sweat to build on his white skin. The little beads rolled down a slightly tanned forehead, as if on some route of escape from his expertly trained body, whilst the rest of his features were highlighted ever so faintly by lingering droplets of perspiration. Ladies around him were more than interested in making his acquaintance, even more so as he spared them a nervous smile, one that hinted at discomfort, although their innuendos and advances did not weaken.

"Thank you," he muttered to a tanned lady who gave him a large glass of water, returning her kindness with a semi-gracious smile and a bow.

"No, no, thank you," she replied in a high voice whilst she kicked the sand away from her toes, "I haven't seen this place looking so clean in forever. Say, are any of you single? I've got a daughter, you see, and she isn't getting many looks from the local boys, so I was wondering if-"

Solace quickly drank the water before replying, "I am sorry ma'am, but the men here are – by no choice of our own, I assure you – celibate. Your daughter shall have to wed one of the other men in this world and if I may be so bold, my suggestion to her apparent situation would be that she becomes slightly warmer in her approaches." Taking on leadership duties was bad enough for him, let alone his men being propositioned with the hand of maidens every five minutes. It was a constant fear for him that one would be seduced by these temptresses, these females, and forever locked in misery when their chosen met mortal ends. A sigh escaped his lips whilst he slipped away to another duty; when would his true leader return?

There was an area he had found not long ago, which was in the perfect spot to be shaded by the sun and the onlooker could still keep an eye directed towards the town. A single tree stood in the middle of it, its bark gnawed by monstrous beasts he could hardly think of, and a long trail of gnarled roots leading down into the parched golden ground. Its branches, now bare of green leaves or any type of vegetation, seemed almost withered in the hot light, although they were specially adapted to stand the overbearing heat. The Spire-Guard settled against its cool trunk before looking out, catching his team immediately as their tunics glowed so viciously in the sun's rays.

Anxiety and Enjoyment were attempting to erect a solemn little clay statue in an enclosed garden whilst Despair, holding a large jar filled with creeping critters, walked past them in some sort of triumph. Desolation was chatting leisurely to a barmaid when he was supposed to be wrapping someone else's gift to an ailing aunt and Enragement, Absolution, Torment and Fury were busy with a complicated array of children's books, which required sorting and filing into a special categorical arrangement. He sighed slightly before resting his head on the tree trunk; his eyes closed almost as if he were tired, when in reality Solace was simply missing the uncomplicated world of his Spire.

Deprivation told him stories of the new world, accounted in multitudes of books and hundreds of little scriptures they acquired over the years. The leader had mentioned great constructions and great people, all of which were drunk on power and would be willing to do anything for a taste of it – all of his life, the Spire-Guard had attempted to do right by his order, and keep their immense power safe from a world that would surely destroy itself. Now it seemed they were too incompetent to ever dream of something like that, causing him to wonder if the millennia of servitude were even worth it. But it was the life he knew; even if they found their purpose was pointless, than the man would still never waver from his birth-right duties. No matter how little they meant in the grand scheme of things.

Suddenly, everything went silence. The strange birds stopped tweeting. The shade seemed to grow unnaturally cold. Solace attempted to open his eyes but, even when he put all of his strength into it, they seemed to stay glued shut, as if he had been like it all of his life. Whilst he tried to help himself he could still hear nothing, not even mutterings from the residents who had been so chatty before, which resulted in a greater amount of force being put into his efforts. Silence dragged on for what seemed like hours, decades, when it reality it must have only been about two minutes. It was only broken by something he had heard before, something that had been uttered many times from the lips of his men.

A scream.

His eyes finally sprang open. The world around him seemed to have lost its vibrancy, its energy, as all around it blackness was slowly creeping. It contaminated everything it touched, sucking the golden glow away like a plague, whilst his team seemed to be in the direct firing line of it. Solace took one moment to realise what was happening; after the penny dropped, he sprang forward and rushed towards his brothers, almost as if he were a man possessed.

Weapons were unsheathed as the darkness crept closer to them and the people rushed into their homes, whilst Solace took up his place in the semi-circle of his brothers. Before long they were surrounded, trapped, with their backs up against each other and eighteen eyes directed forwards to the once-sunny land of Aurora.

Now it was withered, crippled. Any animals that were caught in this sluggish ooze slowly perished in a less-than-harmonious way, as the sun even seemed to become crowded by the overwhelming dark. It took no one more than a moment to conclude what was happening – it took longer for them to decide what their next move would be.

Solace took the lead, since he saw his men shivering in the growing coldness, "Is this all you are capable of? The great Crawler, attempting to strike fear in our hearts rather than facing us like a man? How pathetic to think that you were too, once a great person. You are nothing if you shall not come out to face us!"

His words were met with silence at first, and then a wide range of manifestations. Strange creatures started to birth out of the solution, equipped with weapons that the Spire-Guards had only heard of in books, whilst the Crawler stayed unseen through all of the battling. It was little work for them to fight back, and only took a few expert swipes of a sword for each ungodly thing to fall down to the ground, before slowly melting into the ooze it had been birthed from not moments ago.

"Pawns? Surely not? Come, men; I think he does fear us, or else he could stand to look us in the eye! You know we are not children anymore, and we do not quiver behind the parents you killed all those years ago. Deprivation has taught us well – you would do better to stay hidden Chaos, lest you be slaughtered by the very souls you helped create!"

Seconds passed, when suddenly a great beast rose from the madness around them. It was hunched over and cloaked in a beige ragged shawl, whilst its face had been slowly covered over time by a bone-like construction, and the ex-leader's once green eyes had become a glowing amber since he was last described. Solace gulped; this thing was at least over eight foot, and their only way to kill him would be through the Code of Absolute Loyalty.

"_My son trained you from the ashes of my forefather's creation,"_ it whispered in a hushed voice, great footsteps sounding but the creature seemed to glide, "_Of all your worth, of all your skill, nothing could compare to that which my seed possesses. What makes you think I would ever fear you, dear Isaiah, when I am the very reason for your life at all?"_

"Because you are a coward, Chaos, and my name has been Solace for three thousand years now."

"_Boy – when you were born from your father, I thought you to be stupid. Now I see that I was right, and Wilbur has still wasted his time in training your pathetic existence to some hint of self-worth. Tell me..."_ A move was made, which instantly brought a gun to the bottom of Solace's chin. He gulped once more against its rusted rim and felt it scrap against his youthful skin, before staring into the glowing irises in front of him. They seemed weaker than he expected, "_How does it feel to know that I alone could kill you now, when Deprivation has taught you so little about defence against another Spire-Guard?"_

The man refused to waver, although there was a glint of fear in his eyes as he replied, "Upon your departure...our leader taught us all defence. What you had otherwise neglected to pass onto your apprentices, he took time to teach, and we have become better men for it. Would you care to fight us head on without your manifestations, or are you so much of a spineless fool that you require them to defeat us?"

The Crawler was certainly not expecting that reaction. It took a mere flash of uncertainty in his eyes to inform Solace of this, which caused an irritating smile to erupt on his handsome features, as he gestured behind his back to the men behind him. They formed a small barrier across him and the darkness, for everything it was worth, started to sluggishly recede from their confident strides.

"I am waiting for my answer, Chaos," the Spire-Guard's voice was now etched with a sly confidence; however it only succeeded in making his component furious. They were knocked off of their feet by a tentacle of blackness before a cracked, wizened voice uttered over their shouts of surprise.

"_Tie their hands, my children. We would not want my son to be aided in his quest now, would we?"_ They were instantly pinned by a thousand different creatures, all of which were setting to work on their hands with thick uncomfortable ropes. It was a matter of minutes before they were helplessly bound together and the Aurorans saw hope dying from their lives.

"Deprivation will succeed, whether we are by his side or not!" Solace cried from his captive area whilst Crawler started to disappear into his darkness. The creature halted for a moment, but only to mutter his angry reply.

"_The light will die in my boy's eyes – he belongs on the right hand side of his father, and I intend to finally have my successor, no matter if that means his Spire-Guard blood shall be split on my temple."_


	47. Discovery

Deprivation watched as the sun slowly rose above the horizon. He saw the desert suddenly springing to life, firing great golden rays into his eyes as the sand gleamed restlessly, whilst all the nocturnal creatures started to burrow themselves away into their homes again. Rocks started to sizzle from where he sat, as if they had reached their limit already and this great fiery orb was going to bake them all into oblivion. The leader sighed once – what he would give to be in the stony arms of his world again, instead of trundling through this vast place in the hopes of peace.

With squinted eyes he rose from his resting place, not content to be lying idly when there was work to be done. The heroes were just prying their eyes open by the time he had straightened himself out, and watched helplessly as he went off in the search for invaluable water. All their worth, all of their experience; here it meant little, since they could not even function properly in the glowing sea of gold.

"Just where do you think you're gallivanting off to?" Reaver called out to his interest, although the tall Spire-Guard was out of earshot by this time. Each stride was quick, confident, bringing him closer and closer to disappearing as he reached the end of the rocks and saw the desert give birth to a huge expanse of emptiness. Another sigh.

_These days are so exasperatingly useless,_ Deprivation thought whilst his eyes raked over the land, _each step we take, each move we make – if my father is in control of this world, how can I ever hope to defeat him? Mother, I beg of you; look upon me now from the land you hail, and see that I have grown weak in the presence of my creator. My soul and essence have been spent in the Spire, so much so that I fear I shall never be able to avenge you or my world's past destruction. The guidance of this task shall lead me to an early grave..._

Any grave was early for a Spire-Guard; however very few had died at the ripe young age of four thousand. Deprivation was certain that, since he so valiantly went after his father in a quest for bloodshed, he would join those men who met their fates at this tender age. Young men – good men too, if past Spire-Guards were anything to go on – died at the hands of their brothers, and yet here the current leader stood, ready to go against the person who had trained him in such skills.

"I think you'll find it will take far more than that to infuriate me," Another voice drifted into his mind, angrier than his own thoughts, which caused Deprivation to sharply turn in surprise. He cursed himself lightly in his head; how did he expect to lead the ancient order, if he could not even hear when someone approached him? "Were you purposely ignoring my calls, or are you trying to get a rise out of me through such deeds?"

Reaver looked tired today, a strange occurrence for him. The leader noticed dark circles underneath his luring eyes, the way his pale skin seemed to become even more ghost-like in this sunlight, before his own sight stopped wandering over his interest's features and brought themselves to meet his gaze. The piercing emerald irises seemed to intensify and his pupils dilated as he did this; Reaver saw it, but whether or not he cared was an entirely different matter.

"Forgive me, for I assume I was too far out of earshot to hear your cries," his mutter was quiet whilst he continued to gaze around the world, "Go back now, thief, and eat your breakfast before we set off once again. The sun's rays shall only intensify whilst we travel – water is of the necessity today, however we must be aware of our dwindling supply and try to ration it appropriately."

The immortal looked as though he were about to argue, although soon he simply shrugged his shoulders at his beloved interest's words. There was no reason to argue with him today, not a single point that Reaver felt he had to make, even when they both knew the day would end in either a dispute or a brief discussion about something irrelevant.

"Very well then," he replied as he turned on his heels, kicking up a thin sheet of sand before strolling back to the camp, "I suppose leader knows best, doesn't he?"

Deprivation watched with a hint of sadness in his eyes, only turning when he realised what was rushing through his mind. Reaver and he travelled entirely different paths; his Lady had warned of three he could chose, whereas the thief could enter and leave whichever he felt was appropriate at that time. To have the thief with him, to be joined to him and risk such extensive damages if he were to abandon their bond...the very thought caused a shiver to run up the leader's spine, although he soon directed his gaze back to the land around him.

_It seems as though no water has run here for many centuries. Blasted geography; such useless, pointless little landforms, and all I require is a small stream of clean liquid for the heroes to drink. However should I keep the Spire-Guards a secret? If I were to go ahead now, to defeat my father in a battle that should surely make some history books, then we would be entirely exposed! Unable to hand the victory to them...ah! Blessed Spire, help me, for your guard's leader is becoming hapless!_

Suddenly, there was a glimmer in his eyes. He ignored it at first, probably with a thought that it was simply a shining abandoned gold piece, however when it flashed again the man turned in anger. What he was presented with caused a shock to his system, to his very heart, whilst his well-formed jaw dropped as if it weighed two hundred tonnes on his face.

There, standing so clearly against the orange rocks that Deprivation cursed himself for blindness, was an ancient ruined temple that he could scarcely describe. Void entirely of colour and left a lifeless grey construct, its crumbled statues seemed almost like an ideal child plaything, and its destroyed walls some sort of health violation. Despite the ruined appearance this temple seemed to keep its grandeur, like a spell had cast itself into the leader's eyes, blinding him of the reality of this saddened state whilst he tentatively took a few steps towards the mysterious ruin.

"_Son..." _The voice was so soft on the breeze that even Deprivation could not hear it. He continued on, a shiver delicately stroking his strong back, before he was so close that he could reach out and touch it. What ancient people had built this majesty? Though aged now, the leader could feel its strength through its expertly constructed walls, and a vague energy pulsed from it to his fingertips. A smile erupted onto his face – had the Spire sent this sight to him, to give him some hope in this terrifyingly hopeless mission?

"Heroes!" Deprivation's shout was so loud that not only could it be heard by the four feasting people, it also made some of the rocks shake and shed their smaller appendages onto the ground, "Never fret for the future, as I intend for us to venture into this temple as a small deviation. Surely there should be some water in there, if not a pool in which they previously sacrificed their offerings in? I am sure our fluid troubles shall be over with if you would only follow me into this place."

Garth looked at his friends in a mixture of fear and confusion. They could not see the majesty Deprivation spoke about as he was hidden by the rocky beasts around them, although the mage imagined some fierce-looking thing with animals festering in every crack and a slight chill about it. Hammer glared back into his eyes, as if deducing that he was not comfortable with the idea, before turning to Reaver with a triumphant grin on her face.

"Guess you won't be helping much here then, since you don't risk your hide for anyone other than yourself," she growled, like she was lording the fact her stupidity made her charge into every battle head on without thinking. Well, at least that was what the thief assumed of his large-bodied counterpart.

Reaver smiled his handsome grin as he replied, "On the contrary to popular belief my dear, I find no reason not to delve into undiscovered troves. In fact, I find it to be quite exhilarating, especially when it ends in receiving some ancient lovelies." Hammer's smirk deflated slightly from her face; however she kept it about, because she thought that sooner or later her infuriating 'friend' would turn tail and run for his life. That would show Deprivation who was the best suitor!

Sparrow signed that he was up for it if Garth would agree, so it all came down to the mage's decision. Even Reaver narrowed his eyes at the old man, like he was willing him to say yes so that they could go and aid their guide, though if anyone asked about his true reason for going he would promptly deny it.

"Fine," his sigh was laced with a sense of foreboding, which he was quick to cover up, "Let's go and help Deprivation, before something else catches his attention."

The leader heard none of this. He had been too engrossed with his discovery, with this ruined majesty that seemed so tough yet so delicate, and whatever was happening around him fell in the unimportant category as he gazed at it. Something about it was familiar – it were as if Deprivation had known this place for a long time, or that some sort of memory had been deposited in his mind of it that was not his own. The reason for his attachment to it was unknown; it was simply a pull that kept him rooted to the spot whilst he gazed.

"_Son..."_


	48. Somewhere Here

Deprivation spent moments looking for the entrance. It were as if he had visited this place before, like he had been inside its crumbled yet sturdy walls – the leader stroked against a door-handle almost as quickly as he had begun the search, and a small frown descended upon his face as he pulled it.

The heroes were noticeably wary. They quivered upon entry of the darkened room before reaching for their separate weapons, looking left and right for something they could use to gain some visibility. Reaver kept close to the wall as memories cloaked his mind; this blackness seemed so familiar, so dangerously intimate to his being that the thief was afraid to comment on it, although Deprivation acted like he was aware of this. He kept his tall figure close to the more intact walls, eyes narrowed and directed forward, and on occasion would turn them to inspect his interest's condition. Garth noticed this despite the low visibility.

_They must think I'm blind in both eyes,_ he thought whilst stepping over broken roof pieces, _then again, even a blind man would see their gazes towards each other. What will it take for them to find peace in the other's arms, and when can I finally be rid of this duty? _

It was strange that roof pieces lay on the floor. They were large, jagged, as if it were only a few days ago that they had fallen and the natural world had yet to take over; however, the Spire-Guard was not interested in this. For him, they were simply pieces of clay, and the real puzzle was where they would find some water before galloping off into the desert again. It was only the mage who vaguely questioned this – it was further questioned by the fact that no light shone through the holes, which would surely be there if the pieces were on the floor. Nothing shed any pools of sunshine on the ground, not one scrap that could give them some comfort, and Garth noted this in his head as he continued through the darkened halls.

"I am sorry for this inconvenience," Deprivation's words caused the ever-still air to jump. It was so unexpected that the halls echoed in reply, as if they had not heard a human voice in thousands of years, whilst the leader carried on airily, "If there was another way to access water, please know that I would have gladly taken that route instead."

"Just as long as we get what we came for, I do not believe anyone particularly cares," Reaver's reply was harsh, laced in a fear that his interest could scarcely believe. It may have been entirely undetectable to the others but, to an ear trained over millennia, the terror was close to screaming.

He took a few moments to overcome the shook before muttering, "Yes, I suppose you are correct." Hammer raised her eyebrow at the pair, although she could only really see the faintest silhouettes and hear the echoes of their footsteps. Reaver's were considerably lighter than Deprivation's – possibly because he was a lot smaller, and favoured to stay silent if he did not know where he was venturing into.

Minutes passed in this place, and all of the heroes would agree that it felt like centuries. The Spire-Guard, though increasingly more uncomfortable with each footstep they took, thought that this place was becoming more and more recognisable. Despite the low visibility, despite the eerie echoes and the strange overbearing silence, Deprivation felt at peace here, as if he was meant to be inside its ancient walls.

Suddenly, Garth shouted. There was something stroking the outside of his thigh – a tentacle, or a creature he had yet to discover, whilst Reaver jumped backwards. Deprivation was quick to clutch at the thief and pull him back like a child, most likely in some attempt to protect him although they both knew he was fully capable of that. The pair gazed at each other for a brief second; the immortal felt as though he could see his interest's piercing irises through the dark, even though they were separated before any of the others could notice.

"What is it?" Hammer asked as she reached towards the mage, pulling him back from whatever abomination touched his leg, "Something there, or are you just screaming to scare the Hell out of us?"

"There was something; I don't know what it was! It felt...cold, and hot at the same time!" His babbles were almost incoherent, which only spurred the leader to take a step closer to his interest. Their equally trained eyes narrowed in the darkness and utilised the non-existent light; it was difficult to see in such conditions, although they were both determined to do so.

"Simply your imagination I presume, Garth," Deprivation tried to be as respectful as he could when he spoke, "Nothing seems to be in the location you were touched. Do not fear, my friend, for this darkness will start playing tricks on the wisest of minds if allowed. Let us continue onwards."

The mage was furious at such dismissal, but there were no words appropriate to convey his anger. There might have been something, a sentence that had disappeared due to his fury; however whatever comment he possessed was lost, and they carried on with the journey like nothing had happened. But something had.

Deprivation suddenly felt eyes staring down at them. He thought nothing of it at first, even blamed it on the fact that Reaver was present with them, though soon enough it became too much for him to bear. A step backwards indicated his discomfort; it was enough to bring Hammer's attention forward, which almost assured that everyone else could detect his change of mood.

"Something the matter, Deprivation?" The thief's concern was masked by heavy sarcasm. His interest, who spent a few moments gathering his thoughts, felt his gaze being drawn to a particular stretch of land, and for a brief time he wondered if the Spire was directly influencing him.

"Follow me," he moved forward to the stretch, before turning back and repeating himself. He had hoped they would instantly trust him after so much time had passed, although he could not deny that the less-than-honest approach to things may have damaged his reputation with them. In fact, it was only the immortal that immediately began to follow him, and the rest took a few moments contemplating their options until they finally joined.

"Why on earth are you taking us down this route?"

"I am not sure – to understand my motives, you would surely have to understand my dedication. Please, I implore you to trust my judgement for the moment, as I am certain that this is the best path to venture."

Not quite the answer that Reaver was looking for, however he decided to not pester the man and keep an eye out for anything that could potentially cause harm. It was not that he cared any more for these people – if anything, the 'struggles' they had faced caused him to hate them more – but his interest required protecting, at least until he had acquired his secrets.

That was his story, and the thief was sticking to it.

Finally, Deprivation halted. All was silent. For a moment the heroes watched on, anxious for some move to be made or a sound to be uttered, but it seemed that their guide had almost been switched off. It took minutes for him to say something. And then, it was not a thing they particularly wanted to hear.

"Something is in here with us."


	49. I Knew

No sooner had the words left his lips did Deprivation see something in the shadows. It moved with the speed of a Balverine on stamina potions and seemed to have the strength of ten trolls, but whatever species it truly belonged to remained a mystery. That was because it stayed shrouded in the blackness, content on eluding the Spire-Guard's gaze, as if it were afraid to be caught in the light of his piercing irises.

Reaver wanted to step forward and peer out at the dark room, which was difficult due to the limited space on this ledge. It seemed that there had been some sort of worshipping altar here, something that the previous residents might have used to revere whatever idol they possessed, although Deprivation was taking up the only space that remained from it. Years had passed since these were constructed; it was only logical that some aspects would have crumbled over time.

"What's here then?" Hammer asked from where she stood, perched on a two-foot wide strip of ledge between Sparrow and Garth, "I'd rather go and smash its head in so we can find this bloody water than stand here waiting around."

Deprivation crouched suddenly, before taking his sword out of the holster on his back and pointing it out into the dark air. He seemed as though he were preparing for an attack, an assault on the people he had sworn to protect; however there were no movements past this action, and the leader remained in that position for a good two minutes until Garth finally spoke.

"My friend, I think you were mistaken," his words fell on deaf ears, since the man was so intent on staring out into the shadows. Though it was entirely a matter of perception – for example, Sparrow could hardly see anything out there, save a few murky silhouettes of dark-loving creatures – he was certain that there was something more sinister lurking in the shadows, waiting for them to turn their backs so it could attack. A sigh passed through his lips when he felt a hand upon his shoulder, and tensed slightly upon the realisation that it was Reaver's.

"Pardon my intrusion, but I believe you're going mad," the thief muttered however when Deprivation looked up, he could see faint glimmers of humour in his interest's eyes, "There's nothing there so, unless you really want to remain crouched like a beggar, I suggest we move on."

After the sarcastic prompt, a flood of familiarity poured into Deprivation's glimmering irises. The sense of authority was regained for him as he stood up and, like a toddler finding his feet after a stumble, he awkwardly smiled through the blackness that hugged his face.

"Yes, I am sorry," his mutterings were touched by humiliation, which was extreme in comparison to what he had done, "I can be mistaken on a few occasions, especially when there is such low visibility. May you accept my humblest of apologies for the inconvenience."

However, whilst the leader was softly speaking to his current team, none of them had noticed the thing stirring at the other side. It was large, terrifying; if only one of the heroes were gazing behind Deprivation's face, they could have possibly caught a glimpse of glowing amber eyes. The next events would be less of a surprise if they had.

A few hours were spent on the search for water, and the leader was starting to lose faith that there was any to be found. No pool for sacrifices could be found, nothing that would be useful to them in their current circumstances, causing a sigh to pass through Deprivation's lips as he stumbled over yet another roof fragment. Who would have thought that this ancient construct belonged to a civilised religion? A dead organisation, one of which seemed to prefer their worshipping clean and refused to offer willing subjects in a resourceful pool. How many old faiths did not sacrifice, when so many still went about the ancient offering ways? It was not long before Garth started questioning this place's usefulness, and at that point he found that no other words except apologies would spring from his mouth.

"I am eternally ashamed of this misconception," the leader babbled whilst navigating his way forwards, "Books in my Spire had outlined archaic temples and promised that they possessed sources of water, although it seems that this particular example had no presence in their words." Another sigh plagued his face, before the well-formed features fell into a frown. It was different from the man's other facial expressions – this one contained true sadness, mixed with a slight hint of anger at his own failure.

Reaver, who had been furiously shifting some aged rubble, saw the change in the ever faint light. An emotion passed through his long-since withered heart and caused something to descend on his mood, something that he thought he had been impervious to for many centuries.

Discontent. He did not want his interest to be unhappy, even though his motives to steal the secrets of the Spire-Guard would have probably upset him.

A few more minutes were spent on their search, but eventually they abandoned the quest and turned towards the entrance. Deprivation thought to himself momentarily, using his near photographic memory to trace their footsteps back to the temple's main door; however a familiar chill started to stroke up his spine again. He halted before putting a thumb and a finger in his eyes, with a thought that he must have started his final descent into madness after being away from the Spire for so long.

But this time, it was different.

"Does anyone else feel that?" Garth asked from the side of the temple, "It feels like...eyes. Do you remember that thing touching my leg? It reminds me of that; the hot and cold feeling." Deprivation waved his hand in the air as a signal for silence, although he cursed himself silently after the action had been completed. These people were not his team. They were the heroes – no one from this set of examples could match his team, and it was only wishful thinking that they would ever act like them.

Suddenly, a voice rattled the crumbled walls and seemed to send shockwaves through each of the awaiting persons. They froze, and Deprivation felt a quiver run up his spine as the words slowly fell into coherency.

"_Son...I knew you would come to me..."_


	50. The Descent

The heroes were suddenly thrown to the side by an invisible force. Reaver soared through the air like a carelessly discarded handkerchief, only stopping his flight when he crashed against one of the hard walls, and collapsed beside Garth on the floor directly below. Deprivation alone was strong enough to withstand the blast – he stood like an oak tree against it although inside his mind he quivered as if he were a helpless child, who wanted nothing more than to return to the arms of his home.

"Reaver!" The leader's cries echoed within the hidden walls, which seemed to shudder with intense power now as the heroes groaned in pain. It took a moment for his interest to realise what he had said; it took another few minutes for him to register the fact only his name was shouted, whereas the others were not of Deprivation's main concerns.

"_I knew you would come to my sanctuary Wilbur. It was only a matter of time before you realised your true calling, deep in the heart of the blackest endeavours," _Crawler's voice was faceless, identity unknown whilst the Spire-Guard searched around him, a hand clutching at his perfectly polished sword and a quiver on his top lip, "_You belong at my side, son. Join me, join the Darkness; nothing is more noble than reaching your destiny, and yours is to rule at the helm of my new Kingdom."_

"Creature! I have denied you the right to speak my name once before!" He spoke with the strength of ten men; however the noticeable shake in his voice was something that he could not contain, "Why do you hide in the shadows? Surely the ruler of such a prominent world would not fear his own son, of who was trained by his own hand!" Even though the leader talked about the Crawler, his thoughts were far away from the subject. The only concern he had, the only concern that plagued the deepest recesses of his mind, was for Reaver, who was quickly rising to his feet at the side of the dark room.

Everything suddenly fell silent. Garth's groans of aged pains died down and Hammer stopped squealing about a broken foot, whilst Sparrow and Reaver were busy dusting themselves off after the incident. The thief's cheeks glowed to such an extent that he was actually grateful for the low visibility – imagine Deprivation, a calm and solemn leader of an unknown guardianship, screaming the name of one such as the immortal! It was almost too scandalous for himself!

"Crawler! Crawler! Do not hide yourself from me!" For a moment, the blue-tunic man seemed to lose himself in anger as he cried for a battle. What the heroes had come to accept (and in some cases, love) as their guide's natural personality had almost disappeared, and in its place left a warrior of great passion. Hammer smiled slightly whilst nursing the wounded foot. Many times she had seen that spark of ferociousness in the leader's eyes, that pulse of energy that only a good battle could quell, which now seemed to take hold of his soul as tightly as a vice's grip.

"Come, come now Deprivation," Reaver tried his best to calm the leader down without revealing his true intentions, "If anyone were to be watching, they would most likely assume you were having a breakdown of sorts!"

The leader turned on his heels. All of the heroes, even those who had not been talking previously, hushed whilst the burning irises stared them down and seemed to batter away the surrounding darkness. For a brief time the thief thought he were under a trance, brought upon him by these smouldering eyes that could likely kill a man.

"There has to be some way to shed light on this room," Deprivation's mind had shifted from the search for water to the search for his father, "Do any of you know a contraption that would help us?"

"I believe the thing you're looking for would be a torch," the immortal responded quickly, hoping that he had not lost face, "I have quite a handsome one in my satchel, which I'm sorry to say is located on my steed's back, outside."

Deprivation shot him an irritated glance and turned to the other heroes, which was difficult considering he was judging their placements by hearing alone, "What of the rest of you? Is there a light-producing instrument on your person?"

Garth was nervous to speak. The aching wounds were setting into his skin now, their stinging bites softening as he became used to the pain, although he was fearful that muttering his sentence would cause their guide to inflict more agony upon him.

"I'm quite well versed in light spells," he eventually stuttered after what seemed like an age, "They're the easiest aspect of early wizardry. I'm sorry I didn't mention them beforehand – they must have slipped my mind."

He was thankful to hear Deprivation's merciful reply, "That is neither here nor there, my friend, so long as you can cast them now. Are any of you injured? Would anyone require my help to move?"

"Wait, wait, wait!" Hammer's bellow was loud enough to bring this archaic monument down to the ground, "Are we all bloody mad? What the Hell just attacked us, Deprivation?!"

"My father," the reply was absent minded as he was more interested in helping Garth to his feet, although he knew there would be a barrage of questions afterwards.

"What?! Your blooming dad just attacked us? I didn't see anything!"

"That is because he is no longer the man I once knew, and my duty rests within these walls until his death. Forgive me, Hammer, as I cannot continue with this conversation when such priorities present themselves!" The female hero flinched, hurt gripping at her body like a sword's blow. That was the first time Deprivation called her by her nickname, instead of using her real name as he had preferred on many other occasions. Reaver could not help a smirk erupting on his face, and wondered partly to himself whether or not this was the right time for a snide comment in his 'friend's' direction.

Garth spent moments charging up his spell, which was a magnificent feat when his age was taken into consideration. In no more than a few seconds the mage sent out a massive orb of light, one that would surely blind a lesser man, and it hovered over the room as if it were an angel ascending to earth's murky surface. Deprivation could see quite clearly now – this place was long since abandoned, its constructions falling steadily into disrepair as they collapsed into a seemingly bottomless pit below, whilst immediately surrounding them stood mechanisms that were far too advanced for this place's age. The leader instinctively snaked his arm around Reaver's waist in a form of protection, only to jump backwards when they both realised what he had done.

"Good Lord; your father must've been a man of great importance some time ago, Deprivation. I've hardly ever seen such mastery in construction of the temples."

The Spire-Guard shrugged to himself with a reply of, "He was important in the heart of the Spire, which he chose to squander in pursuit of riches and power. My father was no man to be followed; rather he was nothing that created noble status, and everything that crafted a monstrous agenda."

Suddenly the earth started rattling again. The leader swung his body around just in time to dodge a sword blow, quickly equipping his own weapon to deflect any other attacks, whilst the heroes around him flew into battle. Deprivation came face to face with the person he had tried so hard to forget about, attempted with every fibre in his body to discard and focus on the work his birthright demanded. As the world around him descended into madness and the heroes faced manifestations of a demonic kind, the man felt a strangely eerie calm fall on his person.

"_You once resembled me so clearly,"_ Crawler hissed under his boned face, which had transformed drastically since Deprivation last looked upon it. His reply came out in a low growl, momentarily forgetting his place as the creature's son and instead thinking of himself as an independent party.

"My face possesses skin," he growled before plunging a sword into the Crawler's hand, although this did not hurt him very much. Rather, the yowl that escaped from the monster's lips was only to rattle the chamber around them and throw everyone off balance.

It was a chaotic fight. Crawler truly lived up to his previous name as Deprivation swung sword strike after sword strike, just in an attempt to land a decent hit on the man he once idolised. Reaver was shooting any manifestations that came near his beloved – an act which he promised himself to later deny – and Garth busied himself with destruction of wide groups of them, which included large displays of fire and ice bolts pouring from his finger tips. Whenever Hammer swung her sword down on the 'children's' heads she found that it caused more harm than good, however Sparrow balanced this out with his natural flexibility and dexterity in battle. The whole temple, once silent and for millennia unknowing of a human's voice, was descended into loud chaos, the likes of which bards would die to sing songs about and pass on to travels in the hopes to spread some good news.

Reaver suddenly realised that the small pests were coming towards him, and made the snap decision to quickly protect himself. He took a few steps backwards to realign his aim, to give him the upper hand...which caused him to slip off the ledge's crumbled edge and fall suddenly to what seemed like doom. It was only through sheer luck did the thief reach out as his body plummeted and grasp the jagged sides, although this seemed more like a temporary solution rather than a way to save himself.

"Don't mind me!" He sarcastically called from where he hung, over a drop that seemed several thousand feet, "I'll just dangle here until one of you decides to help me – there's no rush, really!"

Deprivation's head turned to see, distracted by his interest's voice, which could have been a fatal mistake for any other man. His father instantly twisted his black-cloaked arm from where their swords had met and threw the Spire-Leader's weapon into the air, before tossing it to the side as if it were a simple rag doll. With one great, demonic tentacle Crawler swept all of the heroes to the back of the room and down a smaller drop, rendering them useless in Reaver's aid, whilst he pointed his sword at the leader's broad chest.

The man's hands stayed by his side as the sharpened tip rested against him. Disbelief was in his eyes, mixed with an overwhelming sense of failure and defeat, however he was ready to meet his fate at the hands of his father rather than walk out of here a coward. Only a few seconds were needed for defiance to descend into the piercing irises.

"Congratulations, Chaos," he muttered although the name hissed through his teeth, "You are the victor in our battle. As this was a fight to the death, I implore you – take my life, and meet your death at the hands of one of my men instead. There is no matter of my death today; your fate is sealed."

"_Ah, Deprivation, before my primitive mind evolved I may have felt pride at your nobility. However now I see the truth behind those ways, the lies that they fabricated to make more admirable, and there is nothing more I wish for you than to understand my position in all of this...chaos," _a wicked smile stretched across his bony face, right before Reaver muttered another sarcastic comment of distress. His hand was slipping – if they spent anymore time chatting away like old women, there was a chance the thief could lose his grip!

Another wicked smile played across Crawler's face as he growled, "_The heroes are no longer here to save him, Deprivation. You are the only one that has the potential to rescue him...but what of your weapon if you do so?" _the creature gestured towards the shining blade at the side before continuing, "_Take the hand of the thief, and this place will collapse around your weapon. Take the handle of your sword, and you shall walk out of here a free man."_

It was then that his father disappeared, leaving this choice for Deprivation whilst Reaver continued to clutch onto the ledge. Jagged rocks cut into the palms of his hands as he screamed, "This is the part where the hero rescues the damsel in distress!"

But the leader was undecided. It was a difficult choice – the hand of a man that would likely see him dead than happy, or the handle of his sword that had protected him many times before. He was no hero, he was not common to this land; if anything, the Spire-Guards had no need to risk their lives here, so the death of Reaver would not be entirely upon Deprivation's head if he chose his weapon.

Reaver...sword...Reaver...sword...

Suddenly, the thief felt his hand slip again. A shard of rock rolled down his youthful face whilst he continued to slowly lower into the pit, before the ledge finally seemed to give way. It were as if another tremendous weight had presented itself as the structure crumbled at his fingertips and, before he began his descent to certain death, the thief could swear he heard a grunt of effort as the construct crumbled. A hand slipped into his, a warm presence found its way against his body – whether this was death or not he did not know, but the dark of unconsciousness took him all too quickly.


	51. Singing Love

Deprivation felt agony ripping through his limbs. Never before had a pain been so excruciating, so gut-wrenchingly awful that he felt the need to lie for a moment and let it subside, but it was gone almost as soon as he lifted his head. This place, this room; there was something recognisable about it, and yet somehow so unfamiliar that it sent chills shuddering down his well-formed back.

Demonic, ancient statues glared down at them, their faces set in the same stony expressions for centuries on end. In their hands were giant rock-weapons that strangely resembled those of the Spire-Guards and their back were equipped with beautifully carved angel wings, which almost seemed to flutter as unnatural energy swirled around this tidy mess of a room. Even though Deprivation's vision was hazed and blurry – most likely due to the fact he had just fallen from a great height – the leader could spy pieces of rubble scattered about, as if they were a depressing fashion accessory of some sort. With his remaining strength he struggled to his knees, only to collapse again onto a soft body beneath him.

"Reaver?" He muttered under his breath when he caught a glimpse of the soft-faced beauty. The thief's youthful glow had not dulled amongst the darkness of this temple; however over the brief time they had been present it was evident to be taking a toll, since the skin Deprivation loved so much was now littered with cuts and bruises. For a moment, the leader thought to cry, though soon he regained his senses and chose to be more productive with his consciousness.

"Awaken, Reaver," his voice was touched by a tone that seemed almost mournful, even though he knew that the immortal still breathed, "Open your eyes and look about this place; it seems that we have fallen into your ideal accommodations. I implore you to awaken and look, for I do not think I possess the strength to carry your unconscious self."

Reaver's eye twitched though it did not spring open. The leader found himself reminiscing the time they first gazed into each other's eyes, the shock of meeting one so beautiful hidden by his mask of honour, before attempting to stagger to a more respectful position. A Spire-Guard could not be lying down on his duties – they were required to be prepared at all times, which meant that any injuries were to be disregarded as mere annoyances and their minds reset on more constructive paths. Deprivation had normally been the ideal candidate for this, almost as if he were a poster child for sacrifice and hardship, although as his interest lay upon that frozen stone floor he found the struggle much more overwhelming than normal.

"Crawler?" The sound of his cries were bounced off of the serrated broken edges of the room; he thought briefly that it might have been some archaic worshipping temple where offerings were made, but discarded the thought to quickly peer for water. There was no time to be thinking on past objectives.

"_You saved him...you saved him and doomed yourself...you, my boy, must learn that all lives come to a bitter, pointless end...except your own."_

A reality that Deprivation knew well, although he was not about to start pondering on his endless existence. This creature wanted him to think off topic, to disregard the training he had so mercilessly gone through, just so that it could gain the advantage on them and possibly lead to their downfall. What madness would it concoct next?

"I am a Spire-Leader, born to protect those that I have sworn to," the leader replied in fury, "You thought that such a drop would surely kill him; little do you understand about the ways of the heroes, as they can suffer a fall ten times that height and still walk like a man unfazed! Enough of these games, creature!"

To say he was frustrated would be an understatement. After his father not only attempted to indoctrinate him into a life under corruption, he had also set about destroying the one life he wished to preserve outside of the Spire. If any of these tasks had proven anything, it was that the Crawler was far beyond trust, and Deprivation would find better peace when he was lying at the end of a sword's blade. If only he possessed his trusty weapon...

"_Born to protect the Spire, your brothers and sisters, but no one whose heart belongs to the world outside," _the creature hissed his whispery voice, so loud that his son could not determine where he hid, "_Heartlessness is a key aspect of my previous master's ways, so why must you care to preserve the life of one such as this? You should have let him die..."_

Deprivation thought for a moment before he reluctantly answered, in a voice as clear as thunder and as terrifying as the plague, "The Code mentions to protect those that our heart adores. Do you not remember this, my father? Does your mind grow weak under your corruption? Pathetic fool – in my heart this man can never die, for with him belongs the love of a Spire-Guard, and with that the oath of an eternal protection."

A weight lifted from the leader's chest. As if he had been carrying great barbells on his shoulders, he became eased, relaxed, whilst the tension he had become so accustomed to melted away until there was nothing left. Crawler seemed stunned into silence for a moment, before cackling a laugh so foul that it could have curdled milk.

"_Love? Love for this man, who possesses not a shred of your Spire-Guard genes? Who has no womb to bear your children, and no obligation to keep your union sacred? Deprivation, you have pleased me – never before have I thought you so naive, and now I understand just how I must go about indoctrinating you!"_

"You shall never keep my immortal soul a captive," he growled in reply, though because he was not looking he did not see the blackness slowly creeping towards Reaver. Instead, he thought of a time that he remembered happiness, a time when he and his family were all one, and began a tune that Crawler could recall all too clearly. It echoed off the tidy mess, bouncing off the cold angel statues which had small parts missing from their expertly carved faces, as he sung in a voice that could have made true divines weep.

"_**Trust the shadows, and the edge of night, for the stars are all alight. They shall guide us through war and pain, only to bring to our Spire again. When a child, born in love and pride, shall take his once-proud father's stride – for you, my Wilbur, son and hope of life..."**_

Crawler seemed to forget momentarily where he was, who he was, before the hushed voice whispered in reply, "_**I take up my fatherly strife."**_

"_**And the peace that shall preside your head, shall be the truth that I have led. So sleep my boy, my son and life, as I protect with your sword and knife."**_

An ancient song. An ancient memory. An ancient time.

This was before all of the corruption had happened; a time when Deprivation still cooed softly in his mother's arms and knew nothing of their ways, whilst Chaos remained vigilant over the duties of his team. There was peace locked in its words, serenity, although its meaning long forgotten in the mind of the crazed Darkness.

That was when the final battle began.


	52. Regrets

Garth was exhausted. His bones were too old for this amount of excitement and he grew weary during such intense fighting; now, as he and his friends sat trapped in the Crawler's containment, there seemed to be nothing he could do in their efforts to escape. Even Hammer with her larger frame was trying to do something, anything, just to help them get out of this terrifying and unusual mess. Why did being a hero entail so much stress? Why did an old man like him have to go through so much strain, when other seniors were able to enjoy retirement in little semi detached homes? They would be surrounded by their families whilst Garth sat in the solitary world of his library, afraid that anyone else might cause havoc in his tidy lifestyle.

"There's no blooming way out!" Hammer suddenly screamed as she collapsed to the floor again. She had been trying for a full hour to scale the crumbled fortification, which seemed to be lacking in strength these days, since there was a noticeable absence of carers to keep it strong. Bits fell off of it even now as they struggled to escape, revealing a sad-looking elder of the once young majesty.

"The Crawler intended to keep us penned up like cattle," the mage muttered whilst gulping a load of stale air, laced with archaic dust that had been untouched for thousands of years, "I assume he wanted to keep Deprivation away from us. Judging by their history, I'm not surprised."

His words did not echo like they had in other areas of the temple. Here it stayed unnaturally quiet, unnaturally still, and the strong voice Garth possessed fell somewhat limp in the vast emptiness. Hammer refused to give up, instead taking his explanation on as a challenge before pulling herself up from the ground. The mage could not help but notice a small dent in the stone flooring where she had laid and wondered momentarily, about the Spire-Guard's past feelings for her. Was it really to blame that one such as he had been captivated instead by Reaver, who was not only blessed in the arts of seduction but also in the aesthetic regions of life?

Hammer was blaming the thief for his natural – or, at the very least, gifted – attractions, though in reality it was probably just Deprivation's own preferences that drew him away. Reaver was a fighter, an immortal (by Garth's suspicions) and, most importantly, a skilled lover, who had many stories circulating about his 'social gatherings.' No wonder someone would be more interested in him instead of Hammer, when she was only a large-bodied, heavy-handed monk.

For what seemed like an age the lady continued her attempted escapes, although each one ended in the same fashion. There was starting to become an even larger impact on the floor at every collapse, slowly increasing in size whenever she thudded onto the ground, which caused what seemed like small earthquakes to rumble under their feet. Reaver had fell off a ledge before they were attacked? If he was still awake, the thief was probably annoyed that he was not present to make snide comments at her pathetic attempts.

Sparrow signed awkwardly towards Garth, "She's not giving up. You need to talk to her." However much the mage wanted to pretend that he had not seen it, that there was too much dust circulating in the still air, he saw the gestures ever so slightly, just enough to make out what his King was asking of him. A sigh escaped him lips; there was still heavy breathing to be dealt with, as he had passed his prime years ago.

"Sit down," the old man muttered over her loud crashes, "Sit down with us and think back to home. I don't think we're going to see the places alive again." It was not a truth he wanted to face but from where he sat, desperately attempting to make light of the situation, there was enough evidence to suggest they were not leaving this place with their lives. Events that day were leading to their demise, whether or not they were happy about it.

"We don't know what they're doing right now!" She complained whilst inspected the serrated wall edge, regardless of the fact her previous attempts had been futile, "Deprivation could be fighting that thing right now, backed into a corner with a sword at his heart!"

"I think you're worrying for nothing. He showed a lot of expertise when we were all in battle."

"Yeah, well, I might not be so good at thinking but I'm bloody brilliant at swinging a hammer. That Crawler is too fast to keep up with."

"There's nothing that can be done about it now; we have to trust in him, like he's asked us to do before. Reaver should be helping too, if he's awake."

Hammer's eyes suddenly seemed to flare up at his name and her lips curled whilst she spat, "That pompous little arse? He'd sell Deprivation for his own flaming freedom before he helped! You really think that he's going to help anyone except himself?!"

Garth was used to her harsh ideals of Reaver, although now he could see that they were mostly derived from blind jealousy. She was not accepting of her own faults, and decided instead to blame the thief for Deprivation's preferences – it seemed to make her lose her natural goodness, which was already waning since her arrival to this exotic world.

"Just relax," he replied and, finally, she settled down on the ground, "I'm sure that he'll come to find us sooner or later. At least...he'll try to come and find us."

And so they sat. In the stillness of this place there was nothing but silence, however their minds could be not be any more chaotic. There were explosions of thoughts going off, cascades of regrets of what they had not done and minefields of embarrassing memories, yet no one stopped to think of the positive side to life. Nobody stopped for one moment and remembered their adventures, their luxurious relaxation times or even their accomplishments; that is where the line between man and animal was, since such creatures thought of nothing upon death, though they still did not think of their failures rather than their achievements.

There would never be another day of light for Garth. It was his decision now that, among his friends and these ancient constructions, he would surely meet his grave.


	53. What Do You See

It was silent in the worshipping chamber. Not a thing could be seen in the murky darkness around Deprivation, not even the demonic angels he had been staring at not long ago, as his father continued to spread his influence within. It did not matter to the leader however, because he was too busy staring into madness's eyes, which glowed a dull amber and seemed to sap his expertly trained skill away.

"_You will never win,"_ Crawler muttered although he knew Deprivation was not listening. For him there was now no question of the beast's memory – whatever he had turned into over the centuries, Chaos remained in some place of this creature's psyche. And, perhaps less likely than the first conclusion, he might have still felt some sense of love for his only son.

"I have never failed the name of the Spire-Guards. I do not intend to start," the leader's reply was laced with defiance, reminders. It was meant to try and coax his father out for a second, in an effort to try and connect with the man he thought was lost forever, regardless of the fact his appearance had somewhat changed over the years.

For a moment, it seemed as if Crawler were about to speak. The jagged teeth that decorated his lower skull separated ever so slightly and his eyes glimmered with something – recognition? – before they clamped shut again. The amber irises lost their faint senses of humanity, quickly replacing them with overwhelming madness.

Deprivation's piercing emerald eyes violently clashed with his father's; a hidden blessing that his beautiful soul-windows hurt the creature maybe, although he could not help feeling a hint of regret when the Crawler hunched over in agony. This was his parent, the man who had brought him into the world and, despite all that he had put him through over the three millennia, the leader still loved him with all his heart. There was nothing now however, nothing of the man behind this monster, as Deprivation watched the faint traces disappear from his eyes, slowly seeping away into the blackness that surrounded them.

It was a very slow-paced battle. The Spire-Leader, without his sword, forced himself to circle the monstrous being and keep up a constant bout of eye contact – anyone would have trusted that would be difficult, but with your own father it was nearly impossible. He stared down whilst feeling the ground in front of him, with some thought that if he were to trip it would surely disconnect their precarious link.

"_No matter what you attack me with Wilbur, you shall never succeed," _Crawler cried as he pulled himself to the side, as if he regained strength whenever he lurked in the cloak of darkness. Deprivation tried his best to keep away from the enclosed blackness, tried to keep himself in the light of his own eyes, whilst he kept one located on his beloved Reaver.

The thief was still unconscious on the floor, as if he was happily dozing in a king-sized bed rather than lying upon a stone-carved surface. He who had resisted so strongly was starting to feel the spell descend on him again, one that Reaver naturally wielded like a warrior and used to snare unsuspecting leaders. At that split second Deprivation pulled his eyes from his father; it was a mistake he did not intend to make, almost a decision that he did not consciously make, although it allowed for Crawler to see a slight weakness within his offspring. A wicked smile spread along his face and cracked the bones into different positions, since he had not smirked in a long time – his son, the boy that wanted so desperately to keep himself reserved and dignified, was open to affections for the immortal! How deliciously...convenient.

As Deprivation continued to gaze at the sleeping thief, he did not notice the corrupted entity moving into a more apt position. It lingered there for a moment, watching the back of his son's head whilst he lost himself in this new world with Reaver, of which he felt like there were new prospects and possibilities, but this was all about to come to an abrupt halt.

"_You shall not interrupt my plans, Wilbur!"_ the cry was so loud that the Spire-Leader fell to the ground, his ears covered in some attempt to protect them whilst this screech continued, "_You will submit to my master, to Our Corruptor; lest you see the precious gem in your life die!"_

The blue-tunic man turned, confusion dancing in his gleaming eyes, and shouted when he saw what the Crawler had planned. Long thick tentacles streamed out of his ragged-cloak body like slick fingers before crawling to the unconscious immortal, who was starting to twitch in the lingering blackness around him. The demonic angels sprang to life suddenly, a thousand glowing eyes staring down at Deprivation as he jumped forward in complete disregard for his own life, and brought their weapons down to bar him from his father.

"Do not attack him! Fight me, fight me!" His screams were ravaged by desperation, by pure fury, since his father so lazily attempted an assault on someone unprepared. Moreover it was not just someone, but Deprivation's someone, who he thought that he would never find and never accept into his heart. On some levels he still had not determined whether he accepted his feelings – there was much discussion to be had with his men first, and then a painful decision on the horizon.

"_There is no reason for us to battle," _he replied whilst the darkness continued to seep around the pair. The leader could swear he felt the very essence of himself being sapped away and replaced by something, a little part of him being traded in for a dark, evil presence that he wanted nothing to do with. "_Why would I waste my precious children on you, son, when I can just as easily destroy your soul from the inside out? Watch your precious love die, and realise the evil you are capable of..."_

"No..." Deprivation attempted to spring towards the ever-twitching Reaver like he could protect him, although he was quickly halted by more stony weapons and unnatural guardians. He struggled against their solid barrier even so, watching in horror as the slick fingers travelled closer to his beloved, before there was another scream from his usually calm lips, "Stop! Leave him! Tell me what you desire – I swear to you on my Spire-Guard name, it shall be done! Just leave him!"

The tentacles halted. A single black tongue stroked across Reaver's delicate cheek, as if contemplating his death, however it slowly pulled away when Crawler gestured. Deprivation's body seemed to sag with relief for a moment, until he remembered what the thief's life meant.

"_Are you certain that you will sacrifice yourself in place of him?"_

"Yes...I am sacrificing my own life for Reaver's," the leader sighed in reply, as if there was fear in his heart for what came next, "Just let him live...please."

A plea. A plea from a man who had long ago placed duty above love and favoured to work amongst the stone walls of the Spire rather than allow his heart to grow weak, although now it was clear that his brief time in Albion had changed these facts. It did not matter to him whether or not he returned home; all that mattered was that Reaver would live to see another day, meaning that he would be free to pursue a new path that Deprivation could not hope to follow.

"_Very well,"_ Crawler pulled his unnatural army away from his son and the thief, before slowly approaching him from behind. There was a very large reason to be afraid as he had not known dear 'Wilbur' for a long while, and he could not be sure that he was an honest man. His piercing emerald gaze was enough to bring any evil to its knees in agony.

The leader felt himself turn almost of his own nature and stare up, into the glaring eyes of the person that fathered him. No memories passed through his mind at that point, reminding him of the man that once was, now instead favouring to picture him as this grotesque evil monster that was making him choose between life and Reaver. It was better that way. All through his training this man had posed as his protector, and it seemed that the truth about him was finally spilling to the surface.

"_There have been many lonely years in this temple, boy. I am forced to wonder if my name shall be carried on if I should fail, which has caused a vast search for the suitable successor. It was only a few centuries ago that I realised I needed not an apprentice, but instead my own creation, who would surely be much more satisfactory than anyone else's offspring."_

"You desired that my soul belonged to the darkness and not our Spire."

"_Yes, my son. You are the beacon of perfection, a true icon to those beneath you and who wished to become like you. When my worshippers dissipated, dying their mortal deaths and leaving my halls empty, lifeless, I knew that it was time you joined me, so that they would flock again to see my promise to the New Dark Kingdom."_

Deprivation sighed before falling to his knees, the palms of his hands faced upwards so that he looked as respectable as he could. There was no reason that his fear should take away his Spire-Guard honour – if he was going to die here, than it would be on his own terms. He would face this like the man he had taught himself to be.

"Take my soul," he growled with a slight air of anger, "Take it and let me forget this situation in its entirety. If I must be your apprentice, so be it; there is nothing that you can teach me aside from treachery."

Suddenly, the Crawler was struck by something. He saw not the young man that knelt in front of him in wait for his demise, but instead the quivering child that first stepped out into his training. He saw the soft features of a beautiful baby boy soon after birth and the wrinkled appendages that he possessed, not the excellently crafted and well-proportioned angel who saw such dismay in his life. This was not Deprivation. This was Wilbur, Enlightenment's Wilbur, and his Wilbur. However a deal had been made; it was his life for Reaver's, which meant that one would have to die if he were to keep his reputation. His ancient, non-existent reputation...

Deprivation was overcome by an acute weariness. His eyes drooped slowly and the world around him blurred, although there was very little that he wanted to peer at right now. Only one thing was awake in his mind right now, one thing that kept him fighting back the urge to fall asleep.

_Reaver, Reaver, Reaver..._

The last thing that the leader saw before he fell asleep was a blurred finger, slowly stroking the tanned details of his face...


	54. Lost

Solace was lost in the map of his mind. It was kinder here, gentler to him than the reality of their situation, and so easily he became lost in memories that he long thought forgotten amongst the clutter of his duties. He could see the Spire again, dancing in stillness upon the painted horizon whilst shimmering with untold possibilities – Deprivation had told him many times about their home's importance but now, as he sat tied to his brothers and awaiting certain death, he thought that importance was slightly exaggerated. No one here had even commented about the tower, which was to be expected as it had not been active for some millennia.

The Spire-Guard dabbled for a while in trivial memories, which consisted primarily of his indoctrinating ceremony and a few joyous occasions. There were hardly days to celebrate in the stone walls although his leader often found them, in an attempt to keep morale within his team members high. Solace could recall the time he made a large fuss over Desolation's training start and, since he was the last child to begin the long road to perfection, they had all joined in the praise, however much they knew it was simply expected of the young man. It was a slight hitch that he seemed entirely incompetent of that goal but it was no matter; Deprivation was a patient man, who saw his responsibilities out to the end whether or not it was logical.

Suddenly, he was brought to a recollection he had surely forgotten. His eyes closed to the outside world, the man's spiritual manifestation stepped forward, quickly realising that he was no longer in the unknown land of Aurora. Here was the most claustrophobia-inducing part of his true home – the Spire's entrance, where the leader could have been found during the more relaxed days of their existence. It was large, spacious, but they all knew that their presence in this area was unnecessary, since they had not left the comfort of the tower for centuries.

"Brother? What is it? Why are you here?" Solace turned to the water edge, and immediately saw Deprivation sitting with his feet submerged in the ocean. In his hand were two little bags of bread crumbs, which he claimed were ideal to throw and watch the fish gather on occasion, whilst the familiar curious smile stretched across his tanned features. The Spire-Guard could now remember everything about this memory; it was the first time he had learned about their origins, the first time he had been presented with the fact Deprivation came from a traitor.

"You were absent from our supper," the man found his words were not his own, although he had spoken them before, "I wished to be certain there was nothing on your mind. May I hazard a guess?"

Another smile tickled the leader's details as he gestured beside him, bringing the child closer and settling him down with ease in his heart. Deprivation had always been truthful with him, ever since he had started the journey of the Spire-Guards, and there was no reason to stop now.

"There is nothing on my mind that has not been there for a long period, Isaiah," he answered, "Much has happened before I began training you, and often I find it beneficial to take myself away from the duties of the Spire, if only for a brief time."

It had been a long time since Solace heard his previous name, however he did not dabble on it as he replied, "You have never spoken in detail of our parent's demise, brother." Deprivation's eyes glimmered momentarily with hurt, an emotion that had never been presented to his young apprentice before, before he forced a manufactured light to dance within them again. It was time, after forty years of trying to escape what had occurred, to tell his young friend about the events.

He put an arm around Solace first, causing the young boy he had turned into to instantly ease. The leader was admirably strong, fast and brutal, but the kindness he showed to his brothers was unmatched, and his gentle nature was not often hidden when he was passing on wisdom.

"When you were but a crying infant, Isaiah," he began, though his voice seemed to already be inflicted with sadness, "I was four hundred years old. My training was near completion, my hand was given to a woman who was a century my senior – time was as irrelevant as it is now, although less so as our families still lived and walked and breathed. Then..."

His voice trailed off. Above the pair, charcoal grey clouds were starting to fill the sky, which whispered menacingly with words of rain and indications of a vicious storm. Solace, at that tender age in a young man's life, was frightened of such tempests and Deprivation knew this, as it caused his grip to tighten around his friend in an attempt at comfort. The man had never known a better mother than his leader had tried to be; however he had so often found himself wishing for his own, just in the case that she had some sort of wisdom to share about his own path.

"Then, brother?"

"My father was the leader at that point in our history; he was a brave man, a fierce man, who took no prisoners when there was an inquisition and always kept rigidly to the code of the Spire-Guards. I grew in awe of him, as should be for a young boy to his father, but there was always that chaotic glint in his eye, that spark that told me not everything was in balance."

Solace felt a cool breeze brush against his cheek. For a moment he thought it was the wind, although upon looking he saw it was actually Deprivation's frozen hand. He had been sitting in this draft for a good few hours now – only a fool would think he was not cold, granted he would never move if he were told to.

"You are similar to your father in many aspects."

"That I hope, however much he condemned us to extinction. You understand that my heart is fully dedicated to the Spire and my existence within it has never been rivalled, which makes me certain that you shall not instantly fear these next sentences, as well as continue to trust me in the way of your leader and mentor."

It was a crucial time in the child's life. It was a test, a training exercise that had never been previously presented to other Spire-Guards, though ultimately it would decide if his future truly belonged under the influence of Deprivation's decisions. The man leaned forward, waiting with baited breath whilst his leader sighed once, and continued with the rest of the story.

His hand brushed against the frosty stones of their home before he muttered, "Chaos killed your parents, and indeed the parents of the others awaiting their indoctrination. He killed my mother, my aunts and uncles, in addition to your brothers and sisters that were so close to their time of initiation. I do not understand why he did this; there must have been an evil inside of him, perhaps, but I shall never learn to understand his actions when he taught me to value loyalty above all else. My mother – Enlightenment, of whose touch could tame wild beasts – was killed and myself abandoned, with you and the others squealing for attention."

The story seemed to take a lot of his energy. Exuberant glows that often lined his face were suddenly waning in the faded sunlight, the piercing emerald eyes that Solace had often been envious about losing their attraction. If any other man were telling this tale it would be enough to destroy them, however Deprivation was stronger than a few mere words could describe.

"So...the summary is that your father is the Killer of the Spire-Guards, and you are of his creation? His nature lies somewhere within you?" An unfair accusation, but the man was just a child, who was unsure of how to take such a blow to his otherwise balanced lifestyle. His leader was supposed to be the beacon of perfection, an ideal to follow and respect despite every bad example detailed in their books, though now it seemed he came from less-than-desirable backgrounds. The arm never left Solace's waist however it loosened slightly.

"I resemble nothing of what Chaos became, but all that he attempted to do in his lifetime here. Centuries were spent on my training and, even under his mentorship, I knew the difference between loyalty and greed."

"He let you live! You must have been loved greatly by him; will your dedication be with the traitor if he returns...can you picture abandoning us for his service?"

Deprivation suddenly understood Solace's fears. Every boy, no matter where his origins laid, needed someone that he could idolise and respect, which was another heavy burden on the shoulders of the leader. His days of youthful training were long since behind him – it seemed slightly redundant that he wished for them to return, as he had a natural affinity for leadership.

"Never," his answer caused his friend's shoulders to instantly relax, "There is no force yet existing that shall ever make me join his side, and I doubt any shall be created. You are my world now, Isaiah; you, Abraham, Jonah, Andreas, Gentian, Phineas, Virgil, Cincinnatus, and Draken. My apprentices, my future – the Spire's next generation."

With that the pair hugged, sharing a moment that could only be described as brotherly, and making a memory that would forever plaster Solace's face with a smile. He could now no longer say that Deprivation had no love in his life, or that the leader was entirely the beacon of perfection he had once thought him to be, although nothing would ever change the fact that the leader was always his brother. It mattered not if his origins were laced with treachery; they were the next generation, who would be indebted to Deprivation's bravery for as long as eternity took them.

Suddenly, he found himself being tugged viciously by the wrists. He fought against whoever did it at first, his eyes still hazed by the euphoria of the memory, until the Spire-Guard heard Absolution's voice.

"Brother, we are free!" It was more an exclamation of confusion rather than excitement, "The blackness, the darkness – it has disappeared, and those manifestations released us before disappearing again. We would have battled them if they gave us the opportunity, but it seems that Deprivation's cowardly father has become even more pathetic in his approaches."

The man's words were truthful. Every single shadow had been completely erased, the darkened solution that flooded around them non-existent, though he could feel the presence of something sinister still hanging in the gold highlighted air. The sun shone down on his brothers and Solace, being the natural link between themselves and their leader, could feel that something had been destroyed. There was no longer a sense of Deprivation. It seemed the man had vanished in his time in the desert.

It took moments for them all to feel this. Whilst the residents of Aurora cautiously left their homes and began celebrating, some even asking to dance with the respectable warriors of secrecy, they felt a crushing sadness entering their hearts, which caused a mad rush for the door of the Shifting Sands. They were not about to let their leader slip away from them, not without an effort to bring him back to their arms and keep him safe amongst their collective strength.

"What's going on? Why are you leaving?" Penelope called as she timidly left the temple, although the men were already out of earshot by then. Another responsibility had presented itself; it no longer mattered if they had fully completed their duties, since their loyalties laid with the man who raised them from the ashes of destruction.

And so, they travelled over the hot sun-baked sand. There was no slowing in their marathon, which seemed to take a life of its own as they made a beeline straight for the archaic temple. They knew nothing of where their leader was, nothing of his current predicament – it was only their absolute dedication that they raced so valiantly onwards, knowing that whatever he was doing, they would join immediately to battle his troubles away.

Solace had a feeling everything was about to come to an end.


	55. Admissions

Deprivation was trapped between two worlds, dangling precariously between a utopia he had never walked and the land he lived in, yet never experienced in its entirety. So peaceful was this suspended state that he thought to stay, to breathe its non-existent air, although in his mind he knew it would come to an end, and perhaps sooner than the leader previously deduced. He watched for a moment as the blackness encased him, struck by captivity.

But, sure enough, it started to melt away into the back of his mind. The quiet of the half-world dissolved into the light twittering of birds, which were happily circling above him whilst his eyes creaked open. Their separate colours clashed together, yellow on white, and even against a sky that shone a deep blue as clouds drifted blissfully in freedom. He watched so that his eyes became used to the light around him before attempting to make sense of it all.

Was this death? He had heard about the state before, from obscure details in his hardback books; however it never seemed to be described quite like this. Such peace, such happiness – for a moment he thought to weep at how euphoric it all was, though soon he began to overcome the initial shock and regain his expert senses.

There was something underneath him, which both scratched and stroked against his tanned skin. The leader managed to turn his head with great pain, looking down to see the sun reflecting off of something golden, and realised in seconds that he was lying on a beach. It was the same beach that Deprivation saw when they first arrived to this land although now more still, as if something had happened to keep him safe whilst slumbering. The leader struggled to push himself upwards before balancing on clothed elbows, a thought still trained on how he came to be on this sandy shore.

_My father, _his memory made a sudden appearance, _my father required my life for the placement of Reaver's. Why do I still live?! Reaver...no...he has taken Reaver from me!_

Deprivation glanced wildly around him for a time, in the hopes that his gaze would land upon the beloved thief. He had attempted to sacrifice himself to save that man – an act that was not taken lightly by a normal soul, let alone a Spire-Guard – but now it seemed that Crawler had cheated him, and taken Reaver despite their agreement. Did he intend to make the leader go mad, or was it just a cruel joke that he would never fully appreciate?

Suddenly, he felt his body ease. Every tensed muscle in his sinewy frame became relaxed, gentler in appearance, when his eyes clapped onto the man he had been frantically searching for.

Reaver was softly slumbering beside Deprivation, his head tucked into the crook of his arm as his hair brushed against his forehead. The leader watched in captivation whilst his beloved rested, wondering if he really wanted to understand why they were together on this beach, although he knew that there would be no rest until Reaver had awoken and he contemplated their living.

But at that moment, he realised something. The thief, so beautiful in his stilled position, did not seem to be breathing, and Deprivation's heart skipped when he thought his father truly had taken his life. An uncovered hand instantly snaked around his beloved's waist and he was pulled closer, since it seemed the leader cared little now for respectable appearances. Caution was thrown to the wind as he tucked the immortal's head into his shoulder; what would he do if he was truly dead? What rage would he fly into if their future became extinguished this way, even though any togetherness they had would be overshadowed by his Spire.

"Thief, thief?" he muttered into Reaver's ear, which twitched without his knowledge, "I beg of you, awaken. Open your eyes and be in this reality, here at my side. I cannot live with the knowledge that you have departed, despite my previous arguments and bickering in your company – please, awaken."

Although the immortal had actually woken up, he chose to remain silent as Deprivation spoke. There was something about his scent, the heat of his neck and the way his muscles sat rigidly against Reaver's slim body that drew him in, however the exact reason for his comfort was unknown. It just seemed perfect to be lying in this position with him, on a beach that radiated the peace he felt at that moment.

Suddenly Deprivation seemed to become alive with emotion as he wept, "Please, Reaver...I love you."

Time stood still. The thief, with his heart beating at a mile per minute, looked up from his comfortable headrest and stared at his beloved, who had been so reserved in his feelings before. At first a smile erupted on those beautiful tanned features, features that had both captivated and pushed Reaver, though they slowly fell to depict pure love as the pair tightened their grips on each other. A second passed, a moment frozen in time; it was something that Deprivation had never experienced before and yet, when he sat in this embrace with a man he thought would not exist, there was an overwhelming sense of familiarity. It was not shattered by the immortal's next words but instead enhanced.

"Well, I should say it's about time you admitted it," he purred, the heart-tattoo just below his eye twitching in humour, "Hardly a day passed when I doubted your true feelings for me."

Deprivation's grip tightened ever more and he brought their faces closer, so that their skin was almost touching, "A man such as I does not simply air his true self in a lofty fashion, though in your company I felt the very essence of myself being stolen from me. The thief, by name and nature – Reaver, a treasure you have taken from me today, and somehow I find myself thanking you for it."

"You would not be the first man to have himself enthralled to me. You may, however, be the first that I gladly accept into my oh-so-gracious company," the immortal's lips danced as if independently from his face; it caused Deprivation's eyes to narrow even more whilst his arms tightened, "Congratulations, my dear man. You've had the offering of Reaver's hand!"

Disregarding the last statement, it was more of his own instinct that the Spire-Leader leaned his head forward. His interest's eyes shone brightly in the piercing gaze and, momentarily, he lost the smugness that he had been trademarked for, replaced by a sense of enjoyment that had not been present for a long while. Their lips touched, the electric pulse crackled – attraction to the highest degree, and love to every conceivable extent.

Peace reigned supreme as the men kissed. It was a memory they would cherish for the events to come.


	56. Painful Work

The team found their leader in that position, lying leisurely with a man that none of them had thought existed. Solace was the first to ask for his return to the team's helm, although he waited for a moment whilst the pair untangled themselves, and wondered if Deprivation would ever be fully satisfied with their company again. The Spire-Guard knew that look in his eye – that was the look of exhilaration, joy, emotions that were scarce in their home and addicting for those who went without.

"I have never left my rightful place," he laughed in a cheerful voice, before moving into the middle of his friend's semi-circle formation, "Have you completed your duties, or are we in the debt of every Auroran inhabitant?"

"They have been satisfied to the best of our abilities; the Crawler showed himself during a curiously hectic day. We have been trapped by his children for...countless hours, now."

Absolution had generated the reply, however he was more interested in knowing how Reaver had captivated their leader's heart. He wanted to know, in no small manner, just how this union would affect an already delicate balance of responsibility, and what Deprivation planned to do for the coming events. This curiousness was felt by all the men – even as they trudged back into the half-exploded temple (which had been whole before, until Crawler decided it was more seemly to leave his son on sun-kissed sands) there was an air of wonderment hanging over their heads. What would this mean for their Spire? Where would the man's loyalty lie now, since it seemed so obvious his love belonged to the thief?

The other heroes were awakening near a crumbled statue, as thin light rays slowly stroked their faces. Garth's face seemed set in stone when he moved the corners of his mouth, effectively cracking the crinkled skin located directly around it, whilst he tried to remember how they came to be outside again. His hands gripped the soft sandy plane underneath him and he watched as it floated aimlessly through his fingers.

It was hot out there; hotter than it had been before they went into the temple. Whatever malevolent force that trapped them within those stone walls was nothing, absolutely nothing when compared to the intensity of nature's power. The mage gasped once when he realised how thirsty he was, although he collapsed again into a sweet slumber as if nothing was the matter.

"Step lightly, and softly," Deprivation warned whilst his team made tentative movements into the new ruins, "I am uncertain how close my father could be. There is no doubt in my mind how dangerous he is...Reaver, please, stay beside me, so that I might protect you in a proper fashion." The thief was about to say something, a sentence to defend his protection skills, though he soon found his beloved's hand grip his own and piercing emerald eyes stare past the murky darkness around them. He eased immediately – it did not matter if he could not see, or that he was relying predominantly on Deprivation's light navigational skills. It mattered that they were together.

Suddenly they felt a breeze touch their faces. Solace yelped loudly and jumped forward to his brothers, a sword brandished in an attempt to protect them, as Reaver calmly equipped his sword in a slow fashion. It was hardly as if Crawler would attack them again, since it seemed so obvious the light was too intense now.

"Now, man," he called through the dark whilst Deprivation surveyed the area, "There's no nasties just yet. Best to leave these matters in the hands of your leader; it seems a likely assumption that he knows what he's doing." His beloved wanted to rebuke him and defend Solace but, no matter how he knew the statement to be false, the Spire-Guard shook his head in the waning faded sunlight, shooting him a look of light approval despite the insult. Deprivation smiled.

Solace would never make him choose. He knew how the leader's heart had longed over the course of these months, and he was more aware than most about his complex nature.

The breeze was being generated from a large hole in the ground, which was completed by a set of winding twisted stairs at the side. They continued downwards for what seemed like ages before slowly vanishing, in an opaqueness below that could only be described as horrifying, granted the men forced themselves to look down within it. Desolation could feel something lurking there more than the others; for him a shiver became apparent, as he struggled to contain a noticeable lack of hope in his mood and attempted to rectify his sudden depression.

What manner of evil lay inside that blackness, humming with existence yet somehow transparent? What madness slumbered so soundly down below? Even the most seasoned of warriors among them felt the shivers run along their spine; however Deprivation stayed solid against it, most likely because he wanted to put on a good front for Reaver.

"This seems like a hazard," Absolution mused whilst circling the entrance, "Surely we should craft some sort of barrier, so that the Aurorans do not meet their fates in such haste."

Reaver's ears pricked up for a moment and wondered what the Spire-Guard meant. It was true that he had seen that spark in his interest's eye, a little promise that might imply his hardhearted nature, granted he would never travel down the easier route it brought. Did they truly care for Aurora's people, or were they simply pawns in a game the thief had yet to realise?

"They were able to live in peace when they thought their ends were distant," Deprivation replied as his hand slipped out of Reaver's, "However now they know of my father's presence. Let us block this entrance to the best of our abilities – until we discover a way to defeat the Crawler, we shall ensure the people's lives are preserved."

Desolation piped up from the destroyed columns, "And when we find the path to take?"

"We shall no longer worry for them. Understand this, my brother; we care little for the aspects of this land or the residents of it, regardless of our actions and kindness towards them. If you are anxious in relation to this path, speak your mind, and I shall attempt to settle your qualms on the subject."

Of course, the 'young' man did not reply. He wanted to seem more knowledgeable on this subject that he truly was, to seem on the same wavelength as his awe-inspiring leader, although in truth Desolation was confused about their misleading ways. Why would they be so heartless towards people that had done naught to them? Or was this just the natural order of things, and their fates already lay on the path of destruction? Whatever the answer he cared little, since the team started to move to specific spots around the circle's mouth. Reaver stepped back to observe.

It was Deprivation who spoke, in a voice so loud it could have rattled the place to its foundations, "We of the Spire are blessed and pure, yet a traitor I have found that lies to this order. He killed my mother, the parents of all you see here, whilst fleeing like a coward after the battle commenced. Now it is our turn for revenge; a revenge that not only fits the nature of his actions, but protects our Spire in a satisfactory manner."

Their arms rose like a line of robots. The grey background seemed to hum with energy and their faces were highlighted by beautiful radiance, which captured Reaver's interests when he saw Deprivation's glow bright. Cracks started to appear in the already broken walls whilst they started up a mantra.

"_We of the Spire are blessed and pure. By the chains in our blood, take to the skies with our fury, and allow us to extract revenge on He-Who-Destroys. We beg of you, we implore your aid ancient Spire-Guards, to let us taste the bitterness of our brother's defeat."_

The light flooded into the empty space. Reaver watched, mystified, as it shaped to cover the wide-spaced mouth whilst the men around him continued their chants, although he was vaguely aware of Deprivation's mounting pain. As a leader he was supposed to take the weight of failure – the act of revenge was bittersweet on his mind, since he felt the true sting of what it meant.

A barrier was formed, the likes of which Reaver had never seen before. It glowed a mixture of white, red and blue, floating on a strange substance similar to water whilst his beloved's team proceeded with their strange ritual. Deprivation's eyes suddenly became wide and, with a voice louder than thunder, he screamed as if in sudden pain before collapsing to the floor. He clutched at his stomach like he had just been stabbed; for all the thief was worth he darted forward, in an attempt to help the leader in any way possible.

"That scream could have woken a prehistoric beast," he grumbled, trying to cover his intentions for the concern, "If I let you lie there in agony I would seem irresponsible, wouldn't I?"

But there was no sarcasm in his voice. He had essentially failed in his attempts and Deprivation, however much he played it off, knew that his beloved truly cared. Instead of calling attention to it he stood, turning to his brothers who had collapsed away from the mantra. His voice was shaken now.

"Our work here is almost complete. Let us find the King of this world now – Sparrow requires the next movements we must make, if we are to ever protect our Spire in a sufficient manner. Reaver, I need to speak with you before our departure tonight."


	57. Plans Ahead

Deprivation's team had found Garth and the others soon after their chant, and proceeded to haul them all the way back to Aurora. As they had travelled the sun shone down brutally, its rays harsh on their already heated backs, whilst all around them the desert seemed to whisper with untold hardships and challenges. The leader became aware of his unfinished business in that place – wherever he went to, whatever happened to him in the future, his destiny would forever be tied to this desolate, empty wasteland. Despite the overbearing heat, he shivered, before Reaver put a hand on his shoulder and looked at him with sparking eyes.

"Something the matter?"

"No, it is not," Deprivation replied as his hand slipped into the thief's, "Not a thing is the matter with me, that you could understand. I will explain in due time my love; I must enjoy your company at present, for I fear that our time together shall be cut short before I can be satisfied."

The immortal wanted to say something, to query why his beloved had suddenly become cryptic and mysterious, although he found that no adequate words came to mind. There was nothing that could ever bring Deprivation out of his secrecy, even when the man he loved was being left in the dark over it. It was another thing that Reaver would have to come to terms with, and the other unspoken condition of their togetherness had yet to be revealed.

"Very well I suppose," his words were laced with discontent, making the leader wonder if it was so easily detectable on purpose, "There's nothing like a good little secret, after all."

With the others slowly trudging behind them, the pair finally made their way back into the Auroran city. The people there, so fearful of the men that brought upon them this madness, were less than welcoming when they saw Deprivation's weary face, which had long been plagued by a strange semi-transparent depression. Penelope was quick to defend them but her voice was silenced by the hand of her superior, who was a wicked-looking woman with a worn face and hardened blue eyes. Her wooden accessories clattered from the top of the temple, her arms stretched to hug the skies above as she called down her condemnation of the men's existence.

The leader gripped his beloved's hands as she cried the hatred, "You! You people came into my land and released that evil into it! Don't you understand the gravity of what you've done? Don't you realise that we can't kill it, and you've essentially doomed us to death?! You – you will be the death of us! Penelope made a foolish decision to let you into our midst!"

Solace did not care to defend themselves, nor did the others when they saw the judgemental expressions around them. What did they have to prove? Why would they want to protect their reputation in this world, since they were going to return to the Spire before too long? Though, by the looks of Deprivation's recent affiliation, their plans could have started taking an unexpected detour...

"Do not insult the men who have offered you fine service," the leader's voice suddenly gained strength, willpower, which caused the people around him to jump in shock, "We have done naught but aid your pathetic, mewling population in their menial tasks, and yet you find the audacity to condemn us for the motive? You wish to penalise my brothers, my men; no one shall you meet that fills your needs quite so supremely, although I do not doubt your dishonesty, to save face."

The priestess was furious in her reply, "Filthy little mongrel! You're going to be the death of my people, yet you still don't care! I should have your blood right now – warriors, surround them! We'll have their heads as offering to the beast before I let you die!"

In a matter of seconds the heroes found themselves flanked, all sides covered by sword-wielding brutes. Reaver gazed at their beautiful blue-and-red painted clothes, seemingly interested on how much they would cost; however this slight curiousity dissipated as he looked at Deprivation's eyes, which smouldered with a terrifying rage whilst he stared at the men around him.

"I shall not be responsible for senseless bloodshed!" he yelled before a hand jumped out, shoving back the warrior in front of him and turning to face the priestess atop. His stare seemed to affect her even there, when the leader stayed rooted to the ground like a flower on rock, "If you wish to have your men killed, let them attack us; if you wish that they live past the next few decades, then you shall listen to my offer, and call off these dancing fools that you call warriors!"

She stared for a while as her mind worked. It would be more logical to call her men off, to listen to the words Deprivation had, though there was still anger rife within her heart. These were the people who had unleashed Hell on them, showed no sympathy towards their plight; however, as evidence seemed to pile up, she knew that they were more knowledgeable on the subject than anyone of her citizens. With great dishonour lacing her actions, the priestess gestured that the Spire-Guards were to be let free.

"So be it. What's your offer?" Her words were harsh, untrusting, granted Deprivation's actions had not invoked any other emotions in them, "It better be good, or we'll kill you all."

"Hm – have you not pinpointed our affiliation to this creature, miss?" Solace was the one to speak as he brushed aside his leader, effectively pushing Reaver to the side. It was their fight to go against, not his.

"Indeed! I would have thought such _well-educated _citizens could detect our ties to this thing; it seems we were wrong my brothers, for they must be blind not to understand!"

"Silence Solace, Fury," Deprivation rebuked, although his eyes glinted with light humour, "These people could never understand our reason here, nor could they know the pride that comes with venturing to this world. Ma'am, you can never kill the Crawler, for you do not have the necessary requirements that my men and I possess."

She faltered before muttering, "And how do you suggest we gain these?"

Reaver pushed back beside Deprivation as he shot a glare to Solace, whose smile was both mischievous and humour-filled. The leader's hand slipped in his and, with a voice louder than thunder, he answered her.

"My Lady shall arrive soon; she will know how our blood can be used against the beast. I cannot offer you more information, but be thankful for that I gave you. Reaver," he turned, his eyes sparking with a love that seemed unnaturally acute, "Meet me in my chambers tonight. There is much we have to discuss."


	58. Duty Calls

Deprivation was in his new resting place, a room that was intentionally separate from his brothers. There was nothing here; not a lashing of paint nor a touch of decoration, but that did not matter to the leader in his current state. He cared not for beauty at the moment unless it came in one form – his beloved Reaver, who had vanished soon after their return.

"You," the man caught sight of himself in a lone mirror, although he did not see the handsomeness that was reflected. He saw Chaos there, anger, hatred, and nothing that could ever be loved despite his admission to the thief. How could someone confuse these features for attractiveness? When all Deprivation could envision was a monster, ravaging through his tanned details in a manner most foul whilst he sat back, forced to watch and grow into these accursed structures. He should have been grateful, people would whisper. He should have seen the things that were visible to the naked eye, instead of pondering on what lay hidden underneath.

The leader stared for a moment before muttering, "There is nothing about you I love. Nothing exists within you that can be considered honourable, no matter how much you attempt to rectify past misdeeds. Reaver must either be blind or misled, for he could find a far more enhanced lover, though he chose to allow his heart to soften in your presence."

"Come, come now," Deprivation turned, prepared to rebuke or battle the intruder; however his shoulders eased when he caught sight of his beloved, "There's hardly a man more enthralling than you, my dear. You're far too harsh on yourself." The Spire-Guard watched, mystified, as Reaver stepped into his temporary accommodation, dressed in the finest silk that he had ever laid eyes upon. His clothes were coloured jade and his hair – freshly washed and combed – hung past his beautiful eyes in an alluring fashion, which caused his newly found love to smile softly at him.

"I assumed I would be alone with my thoughts," the reply was hinting towards surprise at the thief's arrival, although his tone showed it was welcome, "It seems that you have grown to be a master of flattery. Tell me, has our brief time apart made your heart grow fonder?"

"Don't feed your own ego Deprivation, or you might find yourself somewhat lacking," Reaver strode into the room and the leader, although chuckling at the previous statement, discovered that he was all too aware of their closeness, and how he longed to run his fingers through his love's trained locks. He wanted to see the wildness he knew existed within the immortal, the ferociousness that lay deep inside him, despite the fact that they had remained respectable throughout this whole experience. A gesture brought them closer together before an arm snaked around his waist, their lips suddenly brushing against each other in a loving manner.

"How could I have been foolish enough to resist you?"

"I assume that you were playing hard to get," Reaver's eyes sparked with mischief, "You should have guessed I was a collector of sorts – whatever tickles my fancy, I can obtain without a second thought."

Deprivation's own piercing irises flashed for a moment as he laughed, "Then allow myself to be in your possession, Reaver, until my ancient soul has outlived its usefulness. Or would you prefer that I continue our little game? Such reactions you received from my person were entirely out of sorts..."

They kissed once more, however briefly. It was not for long banter that the thief had come here, or that he wished for his lover to feed the already over-weighted ego he possessed; instead, he required to know exactly where they stood, since he knew that the Spire would eventually call his beloved back to its possessive grip, and leave all that he had gained on Albion's shores.

"Do you intend to stay with me, Deprivation?" the question was unexpected to him, "Or should I be preparing myself for a broken heart?" his lover released him from his grip and turned, as if suddenly overcome by an uncouth feeling of sadness, before he found a suitable reply.

"My love, you see a man that has been long weighted in responsibility," he began, though there was no honour in his words, "For me to even be present in this land is alien, unwelcome, however much I became captivated by your beauty. When my Lady arrives I shall have a final duty, one that would surely claim my soul, and then I can truly ensure that you are safe in my absence – Reaver, my thief, the man who stole my heart; there is little I can do to aid your pain in coming events, but please remember that I did it out of my love for you."

The immortal found his hands cupped by those of his lover's, eyes directed straight at his face whilst immense rays of love seemed to echo through. There was something that he knew, something that had not been passed on to the heroes, which meant that they would have to part despite their strong connection. What had the leader hid? What remaining secrets did he possess that had not been discovered?

"You're talking as if you're about to die, when I know for a fact you can't."

"By the hand of another Spire-Guard, I can perish as though I were a common labourer. The arrival of Theresa will bring about my ending, Reaver, and with that the appointment of a new Spire-Leader, even though I have struggled against this inevitable death for many centuries. There was one factor in my life that kept my burning soul alive; when I found you, my love, that struggle became worth the strains, regardless of my leaving. I shall be deceased by tomorrow's sunset."

It were as if something had struck them both. Unbearable grief descended over the immortal, the likes of which he had not suffered for many years, whilst Deprivation's eyes glinted with a fear that seemed almost unkempt. This could not be the end of their togetherness, not yet – so much had not been accomplished, so much they had to do in their brief time, and memories that Reaver could keep to his heart had yet to be created. He could not bear to watch his love die a second time.

"I cannot witness that pain in your eyes," Deprivation pulled his lover towards him, head tucked into his shoulder so that his irises were no longer in sight, "I am sorry for every detail, I truly am. This mess should have been avoided at all costs, my heart should have remained hardened, but your beauty and talents – those little quirks that you hold to your nature – they took my breath away when I first laid my eyes upon you."

"We can always run, Deprivation."

"Ah! That would be the feat of a lesser man, my love; to die for my brothers is an honour. To die for you..." a soft movement from Reaver caused their eyes to connect again, a strong love pulsating between them now, "That is the noblest cause I could ever conceive."

With that, they kissed. It was a long embrace, one that was filled with immense emotion and intention, although neither of them wished to think too analytically. They wanted to remain in this way forever, trapped in a moment for eternity so that they would never part, and no one could ever ask them to. Deprivation had to die for his love, for his brothers and for Albion. Deprivation had to deprive himself, and the man that he had only just recently discovered.

A crow called from outside his window.


	59. No Solace

Solace spent that entire night in solitary mourning, which seemed slightly premature since his leader still breathed. There was nothing that would prepare them, nothing that could strengthen their hearts for the coming end, although Deprivation had often spoken about a noble death. The honour-bound man had detailed hundreds of different legends, even some that were slightly unorthodox in the way of methods and morals. But what other tales would he tell them? Ones that highlighted love and happiness, when all they knew about the world beyond them was misery and hopelessness? His view remained on one ideal; outside their Spire reigned a land of no nobility, no honour, and that his only duty towards it would be an eventual sacrifice.

"My brother," sighed the Spire-Guard as he gazed out of the window, "You are about to achieve the highest respect, yet all I can do is beg that you do not leave us. I cannot...I shall never become the leader that you require, nor shall I ever keep together a team broken by mourning, regardless of your expectations for me."

No one knew that, underneath his hardened exterior, Solace depended very much on Deprivation. From a very young age they had been together, their training the stuff of legends and their bond closer than family; however now it seemed they would be separated by fate, of which played cruelly upon his beloved brother, and seemed to insist that every step he took be layered with tragedy. Why did the hand of their Spire do this? Why did it punish them, when their only purpose was to protect its great stone existence? This place, this world – no custom made them comfortable and yet if they were to return, their homeland would surely punish them for their failure.

"Great love of the Spire!" Solace's shout could be heard from the clearing outside, the mild-mannered deputy suddenly enveloped by his own heartbreak, "Why are you so cruel to your protectors? You take my brother in the prime of his life, you claim his death for your own protection and he does so graciously; when shall our sovereignty in your walls be granted? Will you forever govern us in a voiceless force, or is there a light at the end of this long darkened path?"

Whilst he spoke the Spire-Guard began to attack, throwing non-essential little trinkets around his room as if he were possessed. Rickety splintered chairs were upturned, the pathetic stained coffee table smashed against a paper thing wall and he, despite being engorged with the strength of a thousand men's grief, felt the weakening of his limbs when each piece shattered. This was how their leader would die – in a land they did not know, in a world they could not stand, Deprivation would meet the tip of his own blade. What a pitiful ending to the legacy of a great man.

Suddenly, there was a knock at the door. Solace knew that whoever stood behind it, of Spire descent or Albion born, was going to be questioning of his leader's demise. Did he have the energy to open that poorly crafted entrance? Was there any will in his soul for entertaining, even if one of his brothers waited so patiently?

"Enter," the man's voice had become laced by mourning and the room around him spoke for itself, since all the furniture now found themselves as formless as a spectre. His visitor took a moment to gaze at the jagged wooden pieces, the broken glass shards scattered in a decorative fashion, before his sights turned back to the enraged deputy standing in the middle. Desolation's eyes were misted by a noticeable misery although his senior friend was too upset to comment on it.

"Are you currently engaged?"

"What is wrong, Desolation?"

"I can return if it is preferred."

"For our Spire's existence will you come out with it?! I must learn to deal with all the problems of our brothers and, if that begins with you, then I shall take it on as a valuable lesson."

Both men stood stock-still, like they had been struck dumb by Solace's words. Nothing of his sentence seemed in character, nothing that indicated to the calm deputy they had both become accustomed to, granted in light of recent events they could let that slide. Deprivation's death would come as a shock to them all.

"I find it difficult to accept his inevitable end," the admission was layered by shame, as if he had become suddenly condemning of his human emotions, "When Deprivation told us that the time was nearing, I could not believe for a moment, and then when he disappeared to his room I felt as though he were avoiding us. Why is he not spending his final moments with us?"

Solace knew that a slight smile was tickling his lips, despite the heartbreaking situation they found themselves in, "He surely should spend this night in the arms of his love, who comes only in the form of a thief. I do not doubt that they will be parted until sunrise."

Desolation's face descended into pure rage, "How dare that man rob us of our brother! How dare he claim the right to his final night, when it were us that followed him blindly into this cesspit! Solace, come with me; there is no time to lose, as we must certainly separate them and force Deprivation to remain in our company!"

With that he turned, a few steps taken towards the door before the senior Spire-Guard sprang into action. Solace pulled back his headstrong little brother, scolding him like he were a child before closing the opened entrance in front. When would he learn?

"We have no right to commandeer his last night on earth. Let him be with his love, his Reaver; surely if an evening of passion is spent, then he shall know what it truly means to be happy before he dies."

"They are only speaking! No passion, no love!"

"Then let them speak! Let them love each other in a way we do not know, and then let him die in happiness! Now go, my brother – go to your chambers and rest your head, for a new day brings with it a new challenge, and it seems that ours shall be to let our leader pass."

As the younger man walked away, discontented with his answer but possessing no energy to argue, Solace suddenly felt hope envelope his heart. Maybe if he could solve that situation, maybe if he could talk down even the most foolish of ideas, he would be able to take Deprivation's place?

Maybe leadership was truly destined.


	60. Serenity

Deprivation awoke early that day. The sunlight weakly shined through his window, stroking his tanned features like a mother to her child, whilst beside him rested the fully dressed Reaver. His eyes were closed to the outside world and his face remained the picture of euphoria, even though last night had consisted only of speaking about happier times. The leader could remember his love's expressions, his features twitching during their discussion, and the way his youthful appearance seemed to darken with age when speaking of previous loves. It was difficult for him not to immediately hug him that morning, kiss his soft awaiting lips as an awaking technique, but there was much he had to do today. It was, after all, the morn of his demise, in which he planned to contemplate life's achievements and the struggles he had faced.

Reaver had no part in that process, although Deprivation wished it to be different. Whilst the leader began to silently don his clothes, eyes directed at the majesty of his lover, he felt a strange tug at his heart. It was definitely love – a hard unforgiving love, something that he was accustomed to – however it was peppered by a knowledge that they would not see each other again, not until it was time for his farewell to the world. Solace would take his place as leader, but nothing existed to take his position in Reaver's affections, much as he wanted to stay with the man forever.

"Good morning, my love," his thin lips brushed against the thief's ear whilst he spoke, "I wish to lie with you in this bed for eternity, though I must part now until this day's sunset. Your beauty has...lifted me; to such an extent it seems implausible. You are my angel, my thief, my Reaver." With that he placed a single kiss on his cheek, granted its softness could have been made by a butterfly. Even his gentle speech had not awoken the sleeping immortal, who still snored in a respectable fashion, lying on the coarse material Deprivation called a bed.

The world was cold outside. Auroran sunlight had yet to bake the sandy floor but he did not care, since the overwhelming heat had always been a nuisance to him. What person in their right mind would reside here? When Albion provided much more hospitable environments, in addition to a more wholesome community of inhabitants. These people seemed to be lazy and discontented in life, even though they probably had more opportunities to leave than to stay. It made little sense to Deprivation.

Then again, nothing here really made sense.

He wandered for a while without a set course, and admired the natural beauty that this place had to offer. A pity that its residents were so vulgar in comparison but, nonetheless, Deprivation could not deny that its vibrancy outshone their hideous plague. If he were in his home, sleeping soundly against the slight alcove of his bedroom, then he would surely be more open to see the best in these people, instead of what they really were.

"Ah!" the sandy beach of Aurora was perfect to rest his head, just as the morning sun began to reach a comprehendible point. It must have been nearing six o'clock, a time when his brothers would surely be awakening and his Reaver would probably rise, unless his dreams provided a more satisfactory state than the leader did. He would not be surprised – Deprivation had never been very knowledgeable in the way of love, especially when he truly cared for the person he held. There was a time when he had been engaged, betrothed to another who hardly matched Reaver's beauty, and yet nothing was more radiant than the love they had shared.

He would never tell Solace of their relationship. He mentioned it in passing a few times, never delving further than she had been a masterful Spire-Guard, however he felt that his friend would learn of her true origin one day. The soon-to-be-leader had no idea about his sister's engagement, of her existence, which Deprivation worked to keep a secret until he died. Nothing good could come of reopening the past.

Back in the leader's room, Reaver was finally awakening from his slumber. He expected to find his lover next to him, his eyes closed and his arm still laid over clothed shoulders, although he was hardly surprised on discovering differently. It was his doomsday; the man would be spending it in solitary remembrance, as they had discussed the night beforehand.

"Oh, Deprivation," he sighed whilst clutching the man's abandoned gloves, which lay half-heartedly on the bedside, "You're surprisingly serene for staring down the barrel of a gun. Your astute nature is hard to come by, but no matter – I hardly had high hopes for the coming populace, and I don't see why that should change now."

His way of dealing with such grief maybe, since in his heart he could feel the familiar sting of isolation. When Deprivation was dead he would have no one, not one soul who understood the ways of mystery, who could contain himself to the point of cruel resistance. Not many existed like the leader and still managed to keep such sanity, although there was a hint of unpredictability in his words. Reaver had discovered that during conversation the night before; his love seemed to have a unique need for bloodshed and battle, considering that all of his methods included a swift, honourable death or back breaking hard work.

A man after his own heart. A man who, in all technicalities, had already claimed Reaver for his own.

"There signals my end," the leader stood at the very edge of the water now, with the gentle lap of the waves washing over his bare feet. His shoes were located somewhere behind but that did not matter at present; he was looking out past the horizon and on the distance, freckled with an invisible sense of doom, was a ship of brown and gold. It carried his Lady, his destroyer, and the speaker of his Spire. It carried death.

It carried the end to Deprivation.


	61. Last Request

Theresa was, in every aspect of the word, calm. Her voice was etched by neither anger nor sadness, although her gentle ways were ever present to the leader. They sat for a moment on that sandy shore, talking of memories that were long since buried whilst the ship settled, its crew heaving with the meagre payment given. His words were laced with regret.

"I am not fearful for my demise, Lady," he muttered when she turned to stare, gaze at the ship so crudely fashioned and wonder how it spent any time afloat, "There is much that I could fear, and yet naught seems to upset my mood. Only one person presently plays on my mind."

"Yes, I know. The thief has opened himself to you – how are you expecting to remedy this? Your death shall surely cause him misery."

His Lady was confrontational. Granted it was mostly the Spire-Guard's fault, since he had vowed on loyalty to the Spire above all else, whilst his heart softened for a man outside those walls. This did not alter the offense; a blind seeress had no right to condemn him, when there was no other thought for Deprivation's suffering. He was still sacrificing himself! He was still dying for his Spire, for his duties, even though there was a much more satisfactory life on the horizon now. Reaver would have provided all those missed opportunities...

He took a moment to think, before gathering himself to stand and stare at a baby blue sky. There were no clouds floating on its wide bosom, not even one of cotton ball size, regardless of the priestess' recent weather predictions. Stormy skies? They did not seem to exist in this realm.

"In my books of past times, exist details of war and savagery I can scarcely describe," he finally choked out, through all of his rage, "These aliens terrified me when first observed, though I continued on for my Spire's sake, and met a man that made all of these irrelevant lives...fit. I was no longer afraid of their customs, their rituals; instead I became transfixed, as if I were on a drug, whilst in my head raged a cyclone of guilt, no matter how accidental these emotions were. Look me in the eyes, Theresa."

A blatant challenge – Deprivation knew of his Lady's blindness, that she could not see even if she wanted to, although he hoped that it would be a large enough impact. How else could he make her understand their precarious balance? How his heart bled every moment for Reaver, the man to suffer another loss?

"You are fully aware I cannot."

"Piercing emerald." He waited for a moment to allow her confusion to flood, like he wanted to play a game, "My eye colour. It was apparently gifted from my great grandfather, of whom I never had the courtesy to meet and yet wield his majesty as if my own. Father...Chaos thought to name me on them, although Mother disagreed entirely, which is why I became that forsaken Wilbur, a spineless coward in the eyes of all Spire-Guards."

"Forgive me, but I'm not clear as to why you're telling me this. What do you want me to say?"

"I want you to say naught," his reply was quick, on some levels aggressive, "There is a request I must make; it shall be strange at first, although nothing would grant my death more peace than to know it has been done."

She stopped for a moment. The gentle breeze was uplifting during this conversation, tickling the exposed flesh of her cheeks whilst Deprivation waited patiently. Something about the way he moved, the way he acted now, seemed to be an almost terrifying change, like the face of doom had caused him to transform somewhat. It was a while before she asked his continuation.

"A portrait must be crafted. A single, lone portrait is what I require, and upon my death I want it awarded to Reaver. Emeralds must be placed in the eyes – this is crucial – and there must be a piece of my clothing on the depiction," he saw by her baffled face that it was, in fact, the strangest request she had heard. Nothing was more horrific to him than feeling these emotions and he wanted to preserve them, in the only other man experiencing his pain.

"Commissioning a portrait could take...weeks, Deprivation. Are you attempting to escape your duties?"

"Not in any manner, my Lady. Solace can describe my features to an artist and, if need be, he can observe my body for its purpose. You do not understand," he turned from the beautiful horizon, portraying a face that was etched in complete misery. Or was that desperation? "I want him...I need him to remember me, and I have entertained this idea many times now."

Another look of confusion, "There is no possibility you could have known your demise."

"The Spire has been my home for over four thousand years, Lady; your mastery of its skill is, at best, mediocre. On occasion it has whispered to me of glorious deaths, darkest demises and the honoured deceased, though it took me many a month to understand the reasoning."

Finally, Deprivation chose to stop talking. Instead he turned to the glistening sea ahead of them, its twinkling of the sun's glorious rays, and contemplated the idea that he would never admire them again. The sun, the sea, the breezes – they would be lost to him in a pit of darkness, where he would lose all but his mind, which would hopefully remain intact until he encountered his mother. Enlightment must have been missing him terribly by now...

And so Theresa decided to leave him. No point conversing with a dead man after all, even if that dead man had served as her protector for many moons now. Solace would be a more than adequate replacement, save that he does not become broken by grief, whilst the seeress had never really cared for Reaver's heartbreak. The thief held no importance, in comparison to the Spire.

As Deprivation stood there, a second crow sounded.


	62. Time to Go

The time came. It was surreal for Deprivation as he wandered, a looming dooms-mark on his head, and there was not much to comfort him except sympathetic Auroran gazes. They were just happy that he would die soon, so that they would survive the oncoming battle no matter how it commenced. They did not care for him. No one here did.

"Brother," it was Solace who spoke, although his leader was too upset to reply. Deprivation stared into those sky blue eyes and thought to himself of their happy times, before all the madness of honour arose, destroying the stable environment he had fought so hard to manage. Those beautiful irises sparkled at him – was it excitement or grief that danced there? Did his demise bring happiness or sorrow? Surely a man like Solace would have been joyful, since he had the chance to take control? These thoughts did not aid the leader's mood.

"Shh, little one," Deprivation stroked the sides of his friend head, a smile descending on his lips, "There is naught that needs to be said, except congratulations for your leadership. Good luck, my brother; may you be triumphant in your conquests, and my memory lost in the radiance of yours."

The leader wanted nothing now, except for the execution to be over and done with. His family stood at the other side of the clearing, their eyes layered with sadness and their hands clutched on swords, whilst he spied the heroes staring sadly from the inn. They had no wish to watch this bloodshed however it felt necessary, when they considered all he had done in their short time together. Whatever way he was killed, whatever rituals they went through, the heroes had to watch, or else it would be a waste of their presence.

"Solace..." Deprivation's voice was unusually small, as if something had stepped in his place and stolen the grand leader's charm, "Where is Reaver? He...I cannot see him here – did someone inform him of the location? Is there a problem, and that is the reason for absence?" The Spire-Guard felt his heart break when he saw his friend, with that dancing desperation in his eyes that seemed so valid. No matter how much they had knocked the thief did not come out, choosing to stay in his love's room despite their increased attempts, which seemed to become more frantic with each passing try. Now here Deprivation stood, a shell of the man he truly was and only wanting for Reaver's presence.

"I am sorry my brother, but he has not made an appearance," those words were laced with regret, the kind that comes by intense mourning, although he had no cause to feel such emotions. This was the thief's fault; he had not turn up when he knew this was the day, implying that Deprivation's love had been a biased affair. What sadness that burned within his eyes! Those piercing, frightened eyes...

"Very well, let us proceed."

The words were not of leadership standard. They belonged instead to a different class, a different society, in which men were allowed to falter and be natural with their teammates. His voice choked with raw hurt, his eyes watering in agony, there still existed an air of grandeur in his nature, as if he were honouring the past with sadness.

Solace moved into the wide open space, a freshly polished sword clutched desperately in his hands. He had spent a good six hours preparing it, cleaning it, just so that Deprivation could have some decency in his respected sacrifice. All that work had paid off to reveal a magnificently sleek tool, which their leader was almost happy to look at as it meant they would function in his absence. His brothers needed that discipline. His brothers needed Solace, when no one else was worthy of their guidance.

"Excellent," he said whilst stroking the blade, just with the tip of his finger, "No dirt, rust or grime. You have proven yourself to be an almost immaculate choice, my brother. Do not let me down, for I shall be watching whenever I can, deep in the arms of our Spire-Guard ancestors."

A tear fell from Solace's eyes as he choked the reply, "Thank you, Deprivation. There is much I still must learn, however you have gifted me with tools that are invaluable. May you rest easy in the arms of our ancestors...may you rest in peace with the mother of us all, and the Enlightenment that birthed you."

What happened next was in slow motion. Deprivation fell to his knees and stretched his hands to the side, the palms facing upwards like a divine offering. His eyes – smouldering in not only hurt, but defiance – were reflective of his past goals, his achievements, and how things had changed over the millennia he had suffered through. Nothing was in need of completion now, since it seemed so evident that his use ranged no further than a sacrifice.

His lonely, single sacrifice...

Solace brought the sword upwards before muttering, "I am so sorry, Dep," and went to crash it over his head, although a sudden crash into his side caused him to lose his footing. They were not sure how to act first, with rage or anger or happiness, regardless of the fact Deprivation instantly jumped up to rebuke the intruder. Who would interrupt such an importance? Who in their right mind would come between themselves and safety, especially when it was only the leader to be killed? What Auroran had felt the need to save him?

"You damned fool!" he shouted without looking, "How dare you do something this reckless?! I should have your head for disrespecting our sacrifice, right before I leave you all to death! What manner of..." his voice suddenly trailed off upon glancing down, where he saw the perpetrator for himself, and changed his tone to one of sadness.

Desolation had stopped his brother from the killing blow, as if overcome by an instant insanity, although Deprivation could see that look in his eyes. No matter how inexperienced his friend was there was something there, a nobility that stuck out in the most outrageous of fashions. It took a moment for him to ask.

"No, Desolation, why have you interrupted us?" he queried with a voice like honey, "You understand the necessity for this. Please, brother, go and stand beside the others, so that we might finish this with as little grief-"

"Stop speaking, for I must talk," the training Spire-Guard barked, "Too long have I watched you sacrifice everything in our name, and now you must forfeit your life? No! I refuse to sit back and watch your death – I offer a solution, one that shall not only satisfy our need but shall also ensure safety!"

"What are you-"

"Kill me, brother. Kill me in replacement."


	63. Honour Bound

"Do not be foolish Desolation; it is my duty to undergo this, not yours," Deprivation had managed to choke out his reply after moments of silence, which were faintly complimented by a third crow calling in the distance, "An ultimate sacrifice must be made and I, as your acting leader, am the one to make it. Go, stand with the others, before my fury presents itself!"

The leader was surprised by his brother's reaction, especially when he had shown no signs of such courage. On the occasions death was discussed he had been fearful, uneasy that its existence lingered outside their home; however now he seemed almost determined to go through it. Was this man truly Desolation? He might have been some other person - a demon perhaps – but not the fair haired Spire-Guard they adored.

"You have not accepted me into our order for many millennia, Dep," Desolation smiled when he saw the hints of irritation, so delicately lining his leader's face, "I can see the reason why now, as my mastery of Spire-Guard skills is not...excellent. It is not even worthy of a lesser man, let alone our brother's aid, and I know that I shall never complete my training to a suitable standard. I beg of you..."

Deprivation watched, shock running rampant on his face like a wild badger whilst his friend collapsed, his knees buried into the cooling sands. What was this madman doing? Why was he sacrificing himself, since it was not required? He was about to argue his case when they heard a familiar voice call down, as if he had just appeared to marvel at the events.

"I believe it's a splendid idea!" they looked up to see Reaver, who was stood on one of the rickety inn balconies, a majestic eagle above the squabbling masses below, "Why allow the imperative leader to die, when there is an excellent alternative? We couldn't ask for a more fitting end!"

The thief's eyes were misted, red, like he had spent his absence weeping instead of sporting indifference. Who could blame him, really? After so many lonely years he had finally found someone, a beacon of perfection that resembled his own immaculacy, and in that short time he found the man would be killed for the good of Albion. He did not even like his homeland! Why would he die for it, or was it a form of protection for his new-found love? They would never fully know.

"I am sorry, Reaver, but this matter has no affiliation with you," Deprivation replied, still slightly infuriated about his disappearance, "You would do well to leave alone, perhaps even to question your own rituals rather add input to ours. Now, if you would grant me permission to turn, I would be honoured to die for this place, so that you might survive what is not yet known."

Without a word the leader turned, like he wanted to keep his eyes off the beautiful immortal and concentrate on the matter at hand. They had not seen each other all day for his thinking, although it seemed they were not having a pleasant reunion.

Desolation stayed in the position throughout, despite the familiar pricks of fear lining his skin. He would not be thought of as the mewling fool, the one who never lived up to his heritage and shamed his family with each breath; they were about to see a new side to him, which had yet to be released to the world. If only he were given a chance to prove that courage...

"Stand aside brother, for I am growing weary with these child-like tendencies that you possess. This no matter that concerns you other than a new leadership – not a time to prove yourself in any form, nor a time in which your offering shall grant Spire-Guard status," his words were harsh, although laced with a wisdom that grew with each second. His friend could only hope for that, hope for a time where he too should become wise, granted that his actions were hardly the strongest to go forth in life. He deserved at least one moment in the sun, did he not? So why did Deprivation, a man who had always set him on a precarious balance, want to discourage his selfless act? Was he honour-bound to do it? Was he ashamed?

Was he scared?

"No, you shall not ignore my offering again," the Spire-Guard bent his head down, arms stretched out to the sides as if mocking his leader's pose, "Kill me, brother, kill me and spare our Spire a great evil. I do nothing for the greatest construct; without my presence it should surely flourish, and with your guidance it shall surely survive. Please..."

Suddenly, Deprivation was struck by something. It may have been the way his brother's eyes twinkled, the sparking rays of light dying on the baby pink horizon or even Reaver's presence above, but there was a familiarity in this scene he could hardly stand. He saw not Desolation, instead himself, in a world that was terrifying and unknown, yet somehow thrilling to his untrained mind. He saw the twisted routes of the Spire before him, beckoning the youngster along his first steps, and the whispers that told of his future greatness. He saw all of those things and more – his hopes, his dreams, his traits were all laid out in front of him, and it cost the death of his apprentice to keep them. Was he strong enough for such a task?

"We're losing sunlight," the thief sang from the balcony although he truly felt for his lover, when a difficult choice like this sat in his sights. Reaver knew the sharp sting of loyalty, defeated now by an overbearingly arrogant persona, despite the little tune he whistled to break some tension. It was not his job to keep up respect, after all.

That was when Deprivation finally muttered, "You have been a friend to me, Desolation. You have been my brother, a warrior and by your actions today, a Spire-Guard. As your acting leader, your current mentor in addition to your brother, I implore you; think on what you are saying, before we undertake something that could truly bring regret."

Silence. No one so much as breathed as the younger man looked up, his eyes sparkling with a bravery that took years to grow, which all amounted to just a single, structured phrase, "Bring me honour, and bring me death."


	64. The Deed

Deprivation knew what came next. He had fought against it, argued his case, but the headstrong young man was determined; this night would not be the leader's last, instead his apprentice's, who was still trembling with anticipation as he knelt in the sands. A single ray of light danced across Desolation's face, flooding his stony details and ruffling those luscious blonde locks whilst the silence droned on.

"Brother..." Solace stirred the still air, "I cannot believe my agreement...you have shown your courage in a way I could never anticipate, and for your sacrifice we shall honour you as a Spire-Guard. Sleep in peace, Desolation, for you shall walk the land we cannot know, and meet the family we never could." The men shared a quick bow towards each other, similar to the typical farewell and yet somehow different. It were as if Solace channelled every ounce of his soul, every single fibre in his body to make that one gesture, although the truth was not far off.

"Your bravery will never be forgotten," Absolution was joined by the rest of the team, who were silently watching the events unfold. They could not believe their Desolation – a man that had never reached his full potential – would do something like this, since it was evident he feared the prospect of death. It seemed their mourning would commence as planned.

Deprivation moved into position. His apprentice felt a quiver run up his spine, like he had suddenly realised the magnitude of his choice, however he kept a solid stare on the leader. Those piercing emerald eyes had always calmed him, reassured him that everything would correct itself and no distress was permanent, although now it seemed the opposite was true as agony ripped through his gaze, and torturous regret danced amongst the chaos.

"In the name of our Spire, Albion and my own heart," the blue-tunic man started, a tear building in his eye, "I am to offer you to our passed ancestors, who saw you as Draken and shall accept you as Desolation. Sleep in peace, sleep in honour; for all that you are, rest easy, until we meet once again."

The last rays of the sun began to die as Deprivation raised his weapon, a polished sword that was fit for sacrificial duties. Tears burst from his emerald eyes, cascading down his cheeks like a waterfall whilst the air around him stilled, as if in wait for the final act. It would prove his love to Reaver, surely, that such a sacrifice was being made just to keep him safe, granted that the official line was to, 'Protect the people of Albion.'

The thief counted more so in Deprivation's mind.

He paused for a moment before, in an act of sudden strength, he cried out, "Forgive me my brother," and brought the sword down. A glint of silver in the dying sunlight, the sharp bite of stinging steel and a fountain of red liquid; it was over. The deed was done.

Desolation, the youngest member of the Spire, was dead. His head rolled leisurely away from the rest of his body, the beautiful blonde locks crusted in dark blood, whilst Deprivation fell to his knees with an anguished cry. So loud was this sob that it shook even the most solid of mountainsides, clearing the hardiest hearts of their cobwebs and bringing fully grown men to tears. Reaver leaned forward as if instinctively, his mind set on the leader's upset like he could repair it somehow.

"No!" screamed the Spire-Guard, "No! My brother, my poor little brother, I cannot...my hands are tainted with your blood! Forgive me mother, forgive me ancestors – my name is a disgrace to your great legends!" his hands were clutching the dead man by now, gripping his shoulders so tightly that he might have called in pain, although there was no thought to Desolation's comfort. Reaver was in the same agony as his lover, perhaps even more so, since he felt a burning desire to comfort him which he could never hope to fulfil.

"Brother! Brother!" the team joined in with the mourning, their voices in a collective shout as they raced towards the corpse. They all knew the gravity of this situation, the permanent effects that this would have and that their loved friend would never return, granted some were only just realising that. For men of immortality it was new, that they should lose someone so dear without hope of them returning.

The heroes watched awkwardly as this continued, eyes never wavering from the scene in front of them. No one had witnessed Deprivation like this, transformed from the fool-hardy leader to a nearly broken man, one who could not do anything except scream for relief. This pain he felt must have been of great magnitude, for they had never witnessed someone in such agony before.

"This certainly is a strange circumstance," Garth jumped slightly when the voice rose behind him, although he did not relax as Reaver's face loomed, "I would've thought such men would be quite reserved about this, though I've been known to make the odd miscalculation."

Rage lined the mage's mood whilst he growled, "Will you show some respect? These men – one of them being your beloved, no less – have lost someone extremely dear to them, and all you can do is care about yourself? Why don't you go and comfort Deprivation, if you truly care for him?!"

The thief wanted to give a retort however, upon further investigation, he realised that Garth was right. His beloved Deprivation was going through such heartache, something that he had grown used to but still surprised him, and all that Reaver could think about was himself. What man had he become? Who could not even set himself aside for one moment, except to gain some manner of wealth or jewels? This was never his plan; there was always a thought in the back of his mind, one that whispered who he would become, although he drowned it out with the chalices of wine and the screams of prostitutes.

Deprivation continued his mourning, effectively blocking any attempt at comfort. He collected up the young man's body and began the lengthy process of preparation, a task that he had never hoped to do yet trained brutally for, which seemed to be useful now as he wrapped Desolation up. This was what their quest had amounted to.

This was the price to pay for adventure.


	65. A Reason to Survive

The Spire-Guards were not present for supper, nor did they appear throughout the night. Beds of coarse linen remained empty as they, mourning the loss of their baby brother, searched for the answer to their grief, and found it in the bottom of green bottles. Even Deprivation was drinking away the memories, as if there existed some world he could vanish into, away from the pitiful reality they inhabited.

Desolation's body had been lovingly prepared for burial, although that would not come until later. It was the leader's duty now to say a final farewell, to cast off the memory of his teammate and look instead towards the future; when Deprivation looked upon that pile of drapes, his brother's empty vessel laid pathetically within, there seemed to be no future that he could welcome. It was just an isolated blanket, one that stretched further than the eye could see. One that would surely crush them.

"My young apprentice," he whispered when they were alone, a brief moment as his team's euphoric state was short-lived, "You have perished so that these people – these, Aurorans and Albionians – could survive another winter. When the light shines upon our Spire, we shall think on your memories, and mourn for those not yet created."

Further away from this affair, Theresa was sitting in Aurora's largest tavern. Alive in those wooden walls were dancers, merrymakers and the like, although her mood could not have been more sullen. No amount of drink would change these events. No alcoholic beverage could quell her rage, her pure fury at losing a Spire-Guard, a breed that had become somewhat rare. How would her home be protected? Surely these feelings Deprivation felt would take him, and leave the Spire weaker than it had been before.

"Penny for your thoughts, Theresa?" The voice was recognisable, as only her friend Garth could possess something so ancient and yet wield it so expertly, "You seem to be in a horrific mood."

"If you were in my position, Garth, you would understand the reason for my anger," she replied whilst he took a seat beside her. These chairs were old enough to be his grandfather's work, but at least they still stood on four sturdy legs and attempted to support his weight.

"No doubt; it must be quite a shock to see someone die like that, especially at the hands of his...brother?"

"Quite, although that is not the reason for my discontent," she muttered in reply, the familiar white and red hood falling down her face, "I know that Desolation has found his higher calling and the others...well, they shall move past it in time, when we have returned to the Spire."

Garth's eyebrow rose as he watched Theresa, noticing the robotic movements she had been making. These were not simply a blind-person's awareness, since he knew for a fact the seeress had the ability to gaze, just not in this world – something was playing on her mind, and it was a large predicament that she found herself in.

"The Auroran's are celebrating their new-found safety. I would've expected at least a little sadness, maybe a statue pledge for the deceased, though I suppose our customs would not reflect here," he watched whilst she jerked again, her milky white eyes directed at various party goers, "What's playing on your thoughts?"

It was a moment before the woman answered, "Deprivation has made a vow upon Desolation's death, and I fear it shall disrupt the order of things."

"His attachment to Reaver, do you mean? Don't worry too much about that; I would think that our 'friend' does not wish for a commitment, so your guard may find a broken heart."

"A Spire-Guard – especially when he leads the team – shall always get what he wants, even before he knows what that it. Reaver had Deprivation's heart before he came to this land, bound to him by a force I cannot describe...yet, there is no concern for that."

She looked away again when a drunken shout sounded, however it was no cause for alarm. A simple merrymaker proclaiming his love, perhaps, to a buxom young maid of the tavern, of which there were many and few. Whatever attraction these women bore had no significance to one another, no reason for an argument as so many ladies insisted, but Theresa paid them no further heed.

"So, if not Reaver, what does play?" Garth was persistent in his question, granted he knew about the seeress' complex ways. She had certain mannerisms that made it difficult, if not impossible to tell when she was lying.

She paused. Was there any point in telling the mage? If anyone could aid here it would be him, with the years of will-orientated study and backbreaking practice; why did she still quiver when asking, despite the interest that he would surely have?

"There is a reason for Desolation's death," her voice began as a slow mess, "A reason that Deprivation possesses, and one that must not be ignored."

The mage raised another eyebrow, "Go on?"

"Upon my taking of the Spire, I was gifted an archaic spell book. Long before I had arrived the men found it, a little mastery that Deprivation's grandfather created; I believe you might have studied him, a Narcissus, later to be called Rendition."

"I recall the name Narcissus. What was in this spell book?"

"A great many things, although nothing that could be deemed useful. The final thirty pages contained the truly magnificent spells, and I've succumb to their pull. For the past few years I have taught myself those very incantations; I propose that you read this book as well, for there is something that must be dealt with, a process that I cannot go through myself."

Garth looked up quickly as a rather portly man shouted, beer trickling down his prickled face and a nose resembling a cherry, "What is that?"

Theresa's solemn face almost glowed with wisdom on the next sentence, despite her lack of knowledge, "To ensure Albion's survival, we must cast Desolation's very blood into Sparrow's body. There, it shall be gifted to his future children, and your future shall be secured in ways I cannot reveal. Follow me, Garth, as there is much we must discuss."

She gave him no option whilst she stood up, a quick glance directed around her before she rushed through the crowd. It was all the mage could do to keep up to her hurried footsteps and, for a brief moment, he wondered how one so blind could so easily navigate herself.

What was she saying? What spell could possibly do that, since Garth was sure he had read all of them? Did the sea-air affect her in some way?

More mystery was to be had it seemed – the men of the Spire were not out in the open.


	66. Historic

The next day poured with rain. Deprivation stood under the bullet-like droplets, his tanned features coated by the elements, although he did not feel relief at their sharp stings. Instead there was nothing but pain, an excruciating attack on his heart as he stared down at his brother, Desolation the deceased and Draken the inept. This agony could not be more prominent.

"Rain?" Solace muttered as he awoke, lying between several resting bodies, "Rain in Aurora? This is highly implausible; ever since we arrived it has been overwhelmingly hot!" his voice, though saturated with the knowledge of death, had tried hard to become more cheerful, considering that he was sobbing not hours before. The lightest hints of humour dappled rosy red cheeks as he, strengthened by a night's rest, stood up to face his leader.

"An oddity perhaps, my brother," Deprivation replied with an air of upset. There was no reason to be happy. With young Desolation dead, his team broken by an irreversible absence, the usually cool-tempered man was not in the mood for small talk. Comments on the weather? When had such a topic appeared in Solace's head? "We must search for Theresa soon."

"Oh? And, for what reason do we possess, brother?"

"Desolation's death was not a simple formality, Solace. I would have trusted that my decision, no matter how unspoken, would be understood by you and our...our brothers."

He felt as if he could not say that. There was no way that someone like him, a killer of his own family, would ever believe his words now, especially when he spoke of the remaining team members. They deserved better, needed better than him, although their viewpoints would have greatly differed.

"I understood – the presence of evil existed on that boat, and I knew it could have only resonated from one thing. That book...that book of your grandfather, who first founded our order many eras ago. Why have you brought it, what does it mean?" Solace had forced himself to read it, long ago when he was a boy of two hundred. Nothing in the history of man had been so foul, so evil that it could be classified as abuse, and he refused to ever look upon the thing's sheepskin cover again. Deprivation had abhorred such a work many times – why did he keep it now?

The leader spent a moment in his thoughts, a single raindrop trickling down fine features, "Of my heritage, a Spire-Leader existed before me. A Spire-Leader existed before he, and then naught but tribesmen. They were brutal, hideous in nature, although he found some strength within their structure, specifically after a magical plague."

Another history lesson for the younger man, granted one he had heard before. They were well-versed in the Origin of the Spire-Guard, which was presented as a defining point in their lives.

That was why Solace finished his sentence, "A magical plague, responsible for the deaths of a hundred tribeswomen, dozens of younglings and fistfuls of men. Those who survived were blessed with two of our existing three chains – after they birthed the new generation, our parents became honoured with a tied set, manipulating themselves into three separate chains. This chain was immortality. You have spoken of these things before; what relevance do they have?"

By this point, the other team members were awakening. Like men of rock they shook off the cobwebs, ridding themselves of a night passed, and were confronted by two respected friends talking in open terms. They were noticeably confused; a meeting like this required them all, not just a selected audience.

"You did not allow me to finish," Deprivation chuckled as the others gathered since he saw not them, but instead their previous personas. There were no Spire-Guards now except for himself, who had become one long before they.

"Then finish, my leader."

"My grandfather Rendition may have been brutish; however, there was a certain aspect he carried, one of which cannot be mastered by ourselves. Have you wondered how we are unable to wield magic, yet skilled in the art of swordplay?"

"I have forever assumed..." Absolution was the first to speak, a rage flooding in the absence of reason, "What has cursed us to never acquire such mastery?"

Deprivation signalled for hush amongst his team, his knees bent down so he could stroke Desolation's swathed face. His brother had not been left to the elements, rather guarded as if he still lived, and he wished that this lesson was taught to all his men, not just those who could breathe.

"Rendition had been leader of the tribesmen for many years, and when that plague struck it was logical that he remained strong. His powers – the legendary ones, carved into our Spire's wall for millennia – were not to be reckoned with, once gifted for his survival. My father..."

"Brother, do not speak of that which hurts-"

"My father was not given these powers, but instead granted the ability to live for eternity. Our founder, our leader and the Defender of our Archon died, as he should have, and left the Spire to control of Chaos. Mother birthed me, without the abilities of my grandfather. We have been unable to use magic ever since Rendition passed on."

Silence amongst the team. They stared for a moment, wondering if they had imagined the sadness in Deprivation's gaze, before Solace finally broke the droning quiet.

"I never knew such things," he muttered, a hand stretched out to comfort his brother, "These tales are, of course notable. How does it answer my previous question?"

"Theresa is a magic-wielder, and with that book she should be able...to cast our Desolation's essence into the King, the Sparrow. He may not be gifted with the chains but his children, they should be granted with a single strand, one that they may not pass unto their own offspring."

The shouts he met were unexpected. Deprivation had thought that they would understand, that they would support him in this harrowing decision, despite the knowledge that their brother had only recently passed. A moment was spent on silence, which only came when their voices were hoarse.

"We must do what is necessary for their survival," the leader insisted, continuing his light strokes of Desolation's face, "Our brother is peaceful now, with the Spire-Guard's passed and the legends of old; for his blood we need not say goodbye, for our farewells were said long ago, to the greatest training man I have ever laid my eyes on. My apprentice...my brother...my Desolation..."

Each man understood now. It was not an easy choice, definitely not for someone like their leader, and he had done it out of love – the man had never belonged to their order, certainly he had never felt more out of place, so death was really the only solution he could partake in. He did speak of meeting his family one time, many centuries ago.

But that did not matter now. The deed was over, the death undertaken, leaving only one thing left to do. Desolation's sacrifice would not be in vain; if Deprivation wanted this land protected from his father, so be it.

In truth, only one aspect needed security.


	67. Threats

Theresa sat in her room, awaiting Deprivation's return. It was his responsibility now, his final decision on Desolation's death, but it seemed he would be in no agreeable mood. Who would? After such a depressing turn of events, coupled with foreboding knowledge, it seemed that no man could withstand such a choice. He would be a marvel to his brothers if he did so. The leader had always been a marvel, to everyone he met.

"Still blind I see? How is the whole 'mute' thing? I recall my commenting on it, the day we were first introduced," her sightless eyes turned, following a voice that she knew all too well. This man had grated on her nerves since they had met, the only person capable of such a reaction, although his words were not meant for irritation. In fact, there was a hidden purpose there, locked within the complex depths that existed in Reaver's mind. He had an unseen agenda.

"I'm preoccupied with far more important matters," her voice was harsher than intended; however the message was still clear, concise in its own way, "Why are you here, Reaver?"

"Straight to the point, I see? No need for tedious formalities? Hm – perhaps I was wrong about you," the sound of footsteps, the clicking of a cane, "I'm sure you know about Deprivation's obsession with myself?"

"I know of his feelings, yes. Why is that relevant?" Theresa had thought already about this, on how she would deal with the leader's depression. After parting with Reaver as he surely would, there existed a deep chasm between himself and recovery, one that could destroy their balance. Deprivation had so much potential, so why did he waste it on the thief?

"My dear; when I'm the one speaking about it, anything can become relevant," what Theresa could not see was Reaver's face, which was dappled by concern and detailed by distress. The thief had not slept for days now, and not for the reason that he so rigidly insisted.

"None of your charm has depleted, I see," the seeress' voice etched on his nerves although, under these peculiar circumstances, he chose to ignore it, focusing instead on his main qualm. A trickle of sweat ran down his face, so large that when it splashed on the floorboards, Theresa could hear it.

"Quite. It's recently come to my attention that - through no fault of his own, I'm assured – Deprivation will be returning to the Spire," his breathing quickened, "How much do you want?"

What was this? Reaver, offering money to an immortal? What use did she have for such materials, when her residence existed far out at sea? Did he not have common sense or, on a more unlikely note, did he believe she could be so easily subdued?

"Are you playing another game? I would enjoy very much to participate; however, as you might have noticed, I'm far too preoccupied."

"I'm simply offering you my payment, a dowry if you will – we wouldn't want any hitches in my plans, would we?" his explanation's were not given, granted they would have been greatly appreciated, "Deprivation's hand; I want it, and you know I always get what I want."

The thief sounded like a toddler to her aged ears, as if he were screaming for a new toy rather than marriage rights. He used no tact, no gratitude nor favourable guidance, but instead demanded for his want, and seemed to use bribery in way of payment. Whatever gold he possessed mattered not, since he knew it would be regained over time.

A laugh from her cracked lips, "You cannot be serious, Reaver! There's nothing worth the hand of a Spire-Guard, especially when he leads the team! Spire-Leaders are instantly betrothed to their rightful counterparts; this is an honour set in stone, and one that you cannot be involved with."

Silence droned on for a while. Reaver, although angered by Theresa's refusal, knew of the Spire's current condition, with no extra guards to defend it. He knew that Deprivation was the last – indeed, the final – Spire-Leader, who had no counterpart available for marriage. Why then, should she not allow their union?

"You're a tricky one, Theresa, but you can't pull the wool over my eyes. Do you not think he's already informed me? Told me all your dirty little secrets, the ones that really matter?" her mouth fell open; despite the fact Deprivation had absolutely loyalty. She pondered for a moment on her next words, her next argument, though her thoughts were interrupted, "There's no reason to make this a war. Just give me Deprivation's hand, and we can part unlikely associates. Doesn't that sound like a wonderful alternative?"

As he had spoken, Theresa heard soft footsteps echoing towards her window. Reaver pressed his forehead against the glass, allowing his breathe to cloud its clarity, patiently awaiting her 'positive' reply. He never had anything denied to him; it seemed illogical to start now. Even though he sat not in his manor, surrounded by a wealth of glittering gemstones and expensive furnishings, there still seemed to be a sense of authority about him, like he had brought it all on their journey.

"No war can rival a Spire-Guard. If you dared be so foolish, then Deprivation would have no choice but to attack. There's nothing you can offer, and nothing you can do. He travels a path not meant for mere men."

"Mere? My dear, there is nothing 'mere' about Reaver! If I am capable of enthralling such a handsome suitor, don't you know I could subdue him into disobedience?"

"You may not have Deprivation's hand."

A final answer. The bittersweet taste of defeat filled his mouth, added by a flavourful explosion of anger, although the thief was far too enraged to pay heed. How dare she?! How dare she deny him, the ever-important Reaver, something that he wanted, especially in the form of a partner? He had met no one so beautiful, so mysterious that it was almost criminal, and now she wished to keep them separated? What right did that woman possess?!

"Very well," a click of a gun sounded, right before he started chuckling inanely to himself, "I didn't want to do this, but you've forced my hand. You see, if I don't get what I want, then I will happily kill until I do!"

Theresa, rooted to the spot with fear, thought about her life. In a brief second she had flooded through with her regrets, losses and mistakes, whilst her achievements remained untouched. There was nothing she wanted more than to live, live past this terrifying night and move back to the Spire. It was safer there. It was protected from these harsh realities, of which ran rampant through ugly landscapes. Albion may have been her home at one time but, now, she knew that there was no place like the Spire.

"Reaver!"

There was a sudden silence, Deprivation's voice leeching away all the other sounds. It sapped energy even from the thief's gun; however he was more cheerful, as if he had expected the man to arrive.

"Oh, there you are! I was just about to join you," a blatant lie, not that Reaver was any better, "You've been absent for too long, my dear man!"

"Lay your weapons down, my love, for I wish not to hurt you. Theresa is my Lady and my Spire's devotee – if you were to attack her, then my revenge would be brutal and swift. Please, I implore you..."

Fear disappeared. The empty space it left was occupied quickly, filled by an emotion that she was not used to and, somehow, found familiar. Reaver's gun slammed on the floor, more out of shock than anything else.

"Thank you, Reaver. May the sun smile upon during my absence, and my heart forever longing for your touch," the leader's voice turned. He addressed Theresa now, although it seemed more disdainful than respectable, "My lady, you are requested downstairs. Garth require a co-caster."


	68. Delay

Aurora's air had become heavy, weighted with an ominous foreboding and thickened by nine grievers. White feathers dappled it as, above them, two white doves drifted on the breeze, their wings stroked by the sands of the desert, and their necks craned to the new horizon. Deprivation knew that his brother watched them – he knew that he was there, somewhere in their ranks, lying in wait for his skill. He had always been available, willing, especially when it was his leader who needed him. Of all his men, Desolation possessed the greatest enthusiasm.

Naivety at its finest, some would say.

"I would wager they are dead," Solace growled beside him, his rain-drenched tunic uncomfortably stiff and his eyes alight with anger, "Perhaps it should be a more appropriate option, since such disrespect can be uncouth. What reason could cause this lateness?"

"Silence, brother, for we cannot be subdued into bad thoughts," Deprivation wisely rebuked, although his voice held traces of empathy, "Our Lady shall arrive sometime or another; until then we must wait, mourn our brother to the best of our abilities, and hope that our agony will not be in vain."

So they continued to wait. Absolution and Despair sat by a lone drinking hole, eyes directed at the inn's entrance, whilst somewhere behind them rested Enjoyment. He was flanked at the sides by his sleeping brothers, the pair named Torment and Anxiety; however the others were entirely awake, with a sense of loss hung over their heads. It was a new feeling for them; this loss, this hardship had only been experienced by one, who long ago turned his emotions away from his mind.

"Garth, I apologise for this delay. Know that I have told them time and time again, and that their lateness has perplexed me," Deprivation eventually muttered to the mage. He had been standing there for a good hour now, in wait for the infamous Theresa, despite the uncomfortable silence that reigned. It served as an unusual study at least, that he should be able to watch these men, these beacons of sacrifice, whilst they tried to cope with such grief. What a magnificent opportunity.

"Nevermind that, Deprivation. I'm aware of the recent struggles you've had," he replied, although nothing could make him fully understand. The leader could never impart knowledge to him, the kind that would make him retract that statement, granted there was no greater desire in his soul. Instead he forced a smile, clenched his fists and prowled away, with a rage in his heart's dark abyss.

More time passed. Seconds transformed into minutes, those into hours, which all slowly brought the sun softly to the horizon and challenged the Spire-Guard's patience. Each man now moved towards their covered brother, an attempt to make him more comfortable, whilst eighteen gazes were set ablaze to the inn's door. If they were any more intense, then it would surely have caused a fire to burn.

Perhaps it was Reaver's fault? It would not surprise Deprivation to hear, to know that his beloved thief had been responsible, although his anger would not have subsided. Theresa needed to learn her place on this world – she was not a blind seeress for the fun of it, nor was she a woman without restraints or duties. She had become, just as they through their birth, betrothed to the Spire, and with it crushed by responsibility. Now she chose to disregard that honour? What a foolish immortal.

"There!" suddenly, a shout from the leader's lips, which had been provoked by a slight door creak, "You! Must we wait for eternity, or do you wish to finish our work now? My Lady, I mean you no disrespect; however my men have waited here in patience, only to have you arrive at this hour! What possible reason do you possess?!"

She stood in silence for a moment. Theresa's glowing eyes gazed for a moment, as if she could see the frantic expression on Deprivation's face or see his fear, although in truth she was waiting for him to silence. Long ago there had been a message found, one that warned her against hushing such a strong-willed beast. It would only end in Chaos.

"Calm down, young leader," her chuckle only infuriated him more, "You're far too pessimistic for this world. Perhaps in the Spire you shall become cheerful, as you were when I freed you from slumber."

"Speak not of our business; instead, why do you not begin, the very process that I brought you here to do?" the leader turned to look at his men, and noticed each one filled with an unforgiving rage. He feared for Theresa – if she did not have the backing of the Spire-Guard, then the Spire would surely destroy her. Or at least, they would be cast from their home's loving glow.

"Hold on, hold on!" the familiar voice of Reaver, "Couldn't you wait just a moment? I don't want to miss out on such an opportunity!" Deprivation knew that feeling would rise in him again; that love mixed with a tinge of anger, though he dared not turn to face his thief, "Come on then, Theresa. You were brought down here by your wonderful guard, and now you sit there gaping like an old, washed up trout? Don't you think you resembled one enough?"

"Reaver, please," he turned to gaze at the leader, who by now had bent his head down. Underneath him lay the corpse of Desolation, the willingly deceased and honoured passed, granted the immortal had seen far more respected coffins. These cream white drapes would not be seen in a normal funeral, one that was loaded with guests and glittering with unnecessary goods. What use would a dead man have for gold? Reaver hoped there would be much use in the afterlife, just in case he would ever visit.

Garth was the next to speak, his voice weaker than it had been before, "Are we all prepared, then?"

"There exists no time for speech. Please, my Lady; cast the essence of our Desolation, before I become infuriated with your delay."


	69. Power

There was a silence as the people gathered. It was unnatural, eerie, one that only existed in the darkest of caves and inhabited the coldest of hearts, although Deprivation cared little for it. Why should he worry about such quiet? When before him laid a path, the path that he had chosen unknowingly, and had led to his brother's demise. Cruelty – the divine Spire-Guards were laughing at his leadership, perhaps even challenging him to better it, or else the death toll of his men would increase. He could not think at this point about those things, since this moment had been greatly anticipated in his mind.

_Leave the concern to a later date, _he spitefully thought to himself, _no matter how greatly you think, it seems that death shall follow. Chaos...absolute, total chaos._

"Are we ready to begin?" the voice, wielded by Theresa, his Lady, quickly pulled him from his thoughts, "This spell has required much preparation, and our basic understanding will surely disappear. We must act quickly, Deprivation; stand beside Garth, perform to ritual."

He had no choice but to move forward, next to a man he had come to respect and adjacent to a woman he was furious at. How dare she speak of speed? How dare she, the delayer of this process, stand there and talk of necessity, when it was her fault they were slow? If he were not entirely loyal to the Spire, Deprivation would surely have taken her head. That would have made Reaver smile...

The leader raised both arms to the sky, his voice strengthened by unimaginable grief, "Passed, deceased and perished; rarely does a Spire-Guard join the starlight ranks, those that exist beyond our realms, yet when they do, their loyalty does not die. I call upon you at this hour - my dear brother Desolation – to look down from your rightful throne, and take pity on us! I beg of you, as your leader and your mentor, to come back to this world in essence, to protect those that we cannot. The Aurorans..."

As if on cue, a small gaggle of native inhabitants tightened, their eyes directed at the strange leader. His own piercing irises looked at them briefly, before turning to gaze at the heroes beside him, "The Albionians..." they did not belong here, not in this world of sand and blood, but somewhere existed their home. That land had been threatened, no matter how far the Crawler rested from it.

"Our brothers..." he turned his head again, this time to stare at his own men. These fine beasts of perfection, the stallions of the Spire; each one possessed their defences, and yet depended on their tiny network of friends. It was sad to see their world from another's perspective but, as Deprivation had proved, they felt no anger at the isolation.

"And for the greatest love of all," at this point, Reaver felt the emeralds turn to him. Slowly the thief met his gaze, staring into the abyss of his soul, and let a smile play on his youthful features. Something he had run from burst in his heart, which caused an awkward movement from his hips and a re-adjusting of his position.

"What do we so seek, my leader?" it was Solace who spoke; regardless it seemed to have been planned. Deprivation gestured to his men, bringing them closer with strong leadership and an attractive confidence. Even Reaver knew that this Spire-Leader, this man that he had never thought existed, could have decided from a great many of suitors, although it did not surprise the thief that he was chosen. After all, who could resist the charms of one so seductive? Especially with the added help of Shadow Court moisturiser...

"We seek that which alludes us!" the leader's shout caused great mountains to shudder, a force that brought all elements to their knees as he cried, "We seek peace of mind and strength of heart! Our Spire shall be protected, our loyalty ceaseless in its walls, but our thoughts here are chaotic, my brother! We seek your essence!"

The skies suddenly seemed to thunder with applause, like it was an audience in need of entertaining. Great charcoal clouds swathed it to the horizon, stretching as far as mere mortal eyes could see, whilst around him the sands came alive with wind. Garth was rightly confused; however his arms rose to match Theresa's, and his one good eye remained on Desolation. What was happening? What majesty did Deprivation command? All of these events were far too unexplained!

Deprivation fell to his knees in anguish, an action copied by his teammates, "Brother! Dead, passed Desolation – my brother, my friend! My fighter and warrior's spirit; shall we ever meet in a sacred land, far from this world that we know? That knowledge remains hidden to me..."

Garth's heart jumped. Was Deprivation summoning the dead? Could he break the laws of time so easily, just using the power of his will? Such mastery of life had never been known, not even in the ancient tales of necromancers, although now it seemed the impossible was real. Reaver took a step towards his love, despite the tugging hand of Sparrow behind him and the great arm of Hammer in his path. She was stopping him more out of spite, but no one had to know that.

"And to you, revealed! Come now in all your glory, come to my worthless existence, and fulfil a wish I cast to you! Save this land! Save our brothers! Go to your new home, within the Sparrow's blood!"

As if a small storm had been conjured, Deprivation and his men were enveloped in lightning. His usually kempt, tame hair became swept by the wind, the growing cyclone around them matching his desperation, whilst Garth felt the agony of a thousand bolts burning his fingertips. The mage could not control his sudden spell-casting, could not pull back any power that was drained, and was forced to watch as his mastery was exploited. On the other side, Theresa had begun the same procedure, granted her knowledge made it a little easier to cope with.

Sparrow stood rigid to his spot. Fear was at play now, rooting him to the ground like a tree; any thoughts to run were lost in the majesty whilst he stared, gazed at Deprivation's hunched silhouette and listened to his anguished cries. Would this hurt? Would this pain be worth it, to save the lives of all he loved? Back in the Spire, it had been a simple choice – save the people, save his family, or supply himself. It would be a lie to say he chose the people...

"Desolation!" the men's voices screamed in unison, a collective of nine poured into one, "Your glory at the Spire! We love you, it loves you! Sacrifice the afterlife, we ask you not, but to sacrifice the glory of death!"

As they screamed, they heard one great cry from Deprivation. It was a bloodcurdling scream, one that shook the houses all the way in Albion and roused the myths, although it signalled an end. Reaver had struggled against Sparrow's hand but now he paused, fearful that his love had died during this onslaught, and full of wonder at his custom. He knew that this had never been executed before, not even by the men who did it now. That provided only more cause to worry.

The end was sudden. All that ruckus vanished into the air, clouds ran from the skies warm belly and the leader, so exhausted from the ritual, collapsed on the floor. Calm enveloped the clearing as each man fell beside him, heavy breathing filling the silence. The thief was freed of his human restraints, which caused an immediate rush to Deprivation's side and out-of-character worry.

"Just what were you trying to do?" he growled at Theresa, who still stood with her arms in the air, "I don't think you fully grasp the meaning of 'loyalty', my dear! You've surely maimed them!"

"Silence, Reaver," her voice was calmer than his, prompting him to gaze up angrily at the seeress. As he did so, he caught the gaze of a small orb of light, one that danced around her and Garth's outstretched hands, and shuddered around Deprivation's body. It seemed...afraid. It was beautiful.

Sparrow, silent like he had been since birth, moved forward to gaze at this thing, although there was not much time. The mage allowed a small groan of strain to escape his lips as the King touched it, watching light specks to tremble from it.

"Reaver..." he looked down to see Deprivation's eyes, the only thing that captivated him, "Thank you." Confused at first, the thief was about to ask; however as he felt a grip around his hand, saw the light spark in his emerald gaze, Reaver knew that his love had been afraid. It was only his presence that made him smile again.

"Stand back Sparrow!" Garth's cry was too late, because the light orb suddenly shot into his friend's stomach and disappeared from sight. It was a painless method, an anti-climatic end to such tremendous events, although Deprivation seemed to smile even more at its passing. Could he have asked for a more fitting finish? He had not been certain this would work but, for the good of his Reaver, he wanted to attempt anything.

"Desolation has granted our wish," the leader muttered, his voice hoarse and weak, "He has not abandoned the glorious afterlife; instead, he has passed his talents and chains onto us, in the form of light. Your children may not bear immortality, King Sparrow, since there are two chains required, regardless they shall bear either the Gift of One Partner or Sacrifice. Beware of a rebellious spirit! Desolation was always one to attack tradition..."

With that, the man closed his eyes, and fell back into the dark abyss of sleep. His job was done for that day, his duties completed for yet another evening – all that remained now was the journey home.

He was not looking forward to it.


	70. Another Night

That very same evening, the Spire-Guards gathered on their ship's deck. It was a cold night, one with a bitter chill in the air, the kind that tore into their flesh and froze birds mid-flight. Deprivation watched as his men shuddered in their boots but, for all he had tried to achieve, there were no words he could give that would warm them, or anything that he could say to calm their nerves. He felt useless in this situation.

"The moon is magnificent," commented Anxiety, who had taken to staring at the sky, "In our Spire, we never do gaze. Shall we take it up as a sort of tradition, my brother? I would be honoured to partake in something this tranquil, albeit the roots do not extend from blood and gore."

A quip at their heritage; Deprivation glared at the man for a moment, only to turn and stare at the orb. He watched for a moment, as if it could tell a story in its magnificence, although there was something else playing on his mind that night. Reaver would be furious when he told him of his leaving. Who would take the news well, especially when hearts such as theirs were involved? Things would only grow worse.

"Are we to bury Desolation at sea? Or, perhaps the Spire? I am sure the walls shall provide peace. It may require a few hours of preparation but..." Solace's voice trailed off when he saw the leader's gaze, the smouldering fire that existed within, and he silenced immediately when it continued. There must have been some reason for Deprivation's upset – whatever the cause, nothing could be done to console him. The Spire-Guard was entirely clueless to his mood.

A few moments passed before he replied, "We shall decide upon return. However, tonight must be spent in peace, so you are all to retire. Goodnight, my brothers, and may you rest easy, for tomorrow our new challenges are faced." They had no option but to leave, since it seemed so obvious the leader was upset. Nothing would be gained from arguing, not even a sense of accomplishment if they won, granted temptation still remained. It was his eyes that lighted their path and now, with them extinguished, it seemed darkness would reign.

"Of course, Deprivation. Goodnight," Solace led the others away, if only for his leader's peace. Sanity was a rarity in their order, by the lesser man's views at least; if they began to tear each other's apart, nothing would remain but the husk of their order, peppered by the stench of failure. No man wished to see their brother in pain.

And so, the Spire-Leader was left alone. He paced the solid ship deck for hours, an age upon an age, whilst thinking on the subject he most despised. Leaving Reaver would be, by far his most difficult obstacle, no matter how vile the man seemed to others, and he thought momentarily upon abandoning his brothers. They would have Solace to lead them – a noble man to say the least, who had shown finesse in the art of guidance. Could anyone have asked for a more suitable replacement?

Perhaps one at liberty to leave.

"Mother," he muttered to the sky, where he hoped the woman gazed, "My birth signalled a new beginning, but to what end? I have fought to achieve perfection, trained to become quick in mind and strong at heart, yet still these thoughts assault me? On one eve, you had promised; when shall I move past my rebellious leanings, or shall I be forever doomed to fight myself? Help me mother! Please, I beg your softness to come again, for I fear my anger shall soon...soon grow to my father..."

His head hung down, so that he could stare at the rippling ocean below. The water's sleek broken surface resembled his own, how his immaculate exterior showed nothing of his mind. That place was a cyclone of disorder, refusing to budge no matter how old he grew. When could he overcome this?

"Coming to bed, love?" he smiled slightly at the voice, though he did not turn, "My quarters are a more appealing sight, I assure you."

"Forgive me, Reaver, as I mean no offence in my denial. You understand that I am a fickle man, perhaps more so than you anticipated?" a challenge to his love, regardless Reaver expertly side-stepped.

"I don't think you understand; an invitation to my bedroom is the highest honour. Hundreds of 'respected' nobles would surely kill to be in your place, my dear Deprivation. Why let the fools die in vain?"

The thief smiled at his love, to show him it was not a threat. He wanted to feel comfortable in his bedroom and, as it was such a chilled evening, it provided a perfect excuse to have Deprivation. They were unable to share accommodations before – the cold night air made a lovely little scapegoat.

"You are a master of seduction," there was a chuckle in the leader's voice, "However; I am currently preoccupied with other matters. Is there an alternative?"

"I'm offended, really," another joke from Reaver, "Denying an offer to make my acquaintance? Hardly the action of my fiancé, hm?"

"Fiancé?"

"Don't you think that our relationship, though a little premature, is worth a grand title?"

They stared at each other for a moment, as if neither could understand. Reaver had thought they were on a similar wavelength although, as it seemed, nothing was farther from the truth. Some barriers still existed.

"My love...I must return to the Spire; we cannot be wed in that time, nor do I believe you would wait in my absence. Do you not understand my commitment to you, considering that my One Partnership has come to you?" Deprivation leant against the ship's banister, a breeze ruffling his locks. It was a shame, that they were now discussing a matter most delicate, on such an inappropriate setting.

"Come come now, love – we all know that you'll stay with me, especially when you marvel my home."

"You do not seem to fathom my loyalty," the leader sighed before stepping to the stairs, his eyes still directed upon Reaver, "Your proposal cannot be accepted, not at this time. Might we talk about this again, another day in the future? Distant, perhaps, but no less desirable."

The thief watched as Deprivation walked, no knowing what to do or how to act. Usually it would be so simple; he would shoot the person who caused such misery, although that was impossible given the leader's skills. That was coupled with Reaver's feelings for him.

"I shall sleep in my own accommodations tonight, with my brothers, and tomorrow we might discuss another arrangement. Your comfort is my utmost priority. Goodnight."

And the man was gone.


	71. Homeward Bound

Three months passed in a blur. Deprivation could faintly recall duties, barking orders and the occasional visit with Reaver, although there was no memory of it in detail. Empty bottles of liquor lay around him, abandoned as their usefulness depleted, and he wondered if now he led like a great man, who found his comfort at the bottom of glass. Maybe the Spire was kind to him; perhaps his great home, the one he would be returning to, had allowed him to forget recent events.

A merciful act, albeit out of character.

"Brother?" he glanced up through the darkness, which hung like a cloak around the room. The voice belonged to Solace and was touched by worry, no matter how often the leader had reassured him. It was those glinting blue eyes that calmed him now, those oceanic sapphires, but he refused to lose grip of his authority. He had already lost one man – Deprivation would be damned if he lost another.

"Yes? What is it? Have the sailors attempted another mutiny?" he asked, laughing internally at their misguided belief. The men working for them were under some impression that they were important, as if their lives meant anything in the grand scheme of things, and their employer would not kill them to avoid difficulty. Reaver was most impressed with his brutal styles, it seemed.

Solace gave a soft chuckle before replying, "No, Deprivation, for they fear your blade too greatly. I am requesting your presence at dinner tonight; our brothers are wanting for your return, instead of eating in silence. May we expect you in the late hours?"

It was true that the leader had not been present during meals, especially when he found such peace elsewhere. He knew that his men would have a problem with that, perhaps a query as to when he would return, although he did not believe that Solace would address it so quickly. Tensions must have been increasing far more quickly than he thought.

"I shall be present for supper. We must remember how difficult life will be now, since Desolation can no longer..."

He trailed off immediately, his eyes glimmering with unimaginable grief. Deprivation wanted his baby brother back, despite his death serving a higher purpose and his happiness lying within those lines. Such a 'young' man should not have to die; it should have been the leader, who had already accepted his fate before he fully understood it.

"Desolation fights with our ancestors," Solace consoled him gently, with a voice as smooth as silk, "He rides beside your grandfather, and the tribesmen before him. Such splendours we can only imagine exist there; our brother sleeps easy on this world but, in another realm that we are promised, fights fiercely with his rightful strength. Why do you continue to be saddened?"

"I am the Spire-Leader. The duty to die should have fallen to me, yet instead I chose to live. Selfishness is a deed we cannot commit...that day, our silent vow to Desolation was broken."

"Selfishness?!" Solace's voice was now inflicted by shock, "How could you think such a thing? You gifted our baby brother – Desolation, the struggling Spire-Guard – a place in our Heaven, and you still believe that is an act of selfishness? I do not trust you know the word, for you should understand that was the noblest act imaginable. You thought for his comfort, brother, not your own."

It was not like Solace to go against his leader, especially when he admired him so highly. The Spire-Guard often put Deprivation on a pedestal, shaming all that did not live to his example, which caused many problems when he thought of the great legends. They may have been warriors although, unlike the blue-tunic man, they did not show such skill.

He smiled, a deep grin that seemed to glow in gratitude, "Thank you, Solace. It brings me peace to know that you believe that, even though my own thoughts could not disagree more. Tell the men I shall be dining tonight, will you? It has been too long since we conversed."

With that, his brother left. The dark room became instantly colder, as if Solace's leaving took with it all the heat, and Deprivation thought again on his situation. Reaver had been, if anything, silent on his leaving, despite the leader constantly bringing it up. It were as if the thief did not want to think about it, did not want to believe it were true, instead choosing to forget and pay it no heed. A few meals had been shared together since they sailed but he brushed off the topic, like it caused him pain.

_Ah, my Reaver, _the leader thought as he stood up, the need to walk suddenly alive, _there is little I would deny you, except my hand and my brothers. Now we have come to an impasse, where our relationship can go no further for my loyalty, and still I crave your presence. Should I abandon my Spire in favour of your side, or does my home have more significance than my heart? Oh, Reaver – our hearts are forever bound by misery, it seems._

Whilst he spoke internally, Deprivation took a stroll around the ship. He escaped the darkened confines of his room and replaced it with soft sea air, which blew gently against his features. A blue sky was becoming streaked with pink as the sun, ever the keen artist, met the back of the horizon for another day, and discussed matters of importance with its sleepy glow. From the edge of the ship he watched this conversation, dancing amongst the faintest stars, although he wished that he could be part of it. What majesty would the leader be, if instead he belonged to the elements? Would he ebb softly in the shore's shallow waves, or would he scream in power during a thunderous storm? Would there be choices in his life that hurt him so, such as the current predicament? If the stars could speak in a human tongue, perhaps he would gain an answer, but now they just shimmered down at him, an unspoken message that he could interpret in many ways.

His head turned to look further on, where there was a small speck of grey. This discolouration was not a simple mistake; there lay Albion, his Reaver's home, a place that would be freckled with sadness by the time he left. Could he really bear to separate with the thief? Deprivation had thought on it many times although, until now, it seemed that the event was distant. His heart had been stolen, his mind disarrayed by love, and his body in merging paths with that of his beloved. Spire-Guards would never feel this type of emotion with their own, since they would not be told to leave each other, but instead copulate for the good of the order. Reaver could not give a new generation – they would be forced to part eventually, granted only the leader would suffer greatly.

This was his burden to bear.

"Deprivation!" he heard Hammer's voice but he did not turn, "There you are! Say, I was wondering if you'd like some drinks with me, tonight after dinner?" her bumbling footsteps were loud behind him and, instead of finding them so uniquely charming, the leader realised how disruptive they were. Why would she want his company after dinner?

Deprivation thought carefully before he replied, "Of course, Hannah; I would be delighted to join you. Might it be after my daily visit with Reaver? I assure you that my presence shall not be prohibited by him."

Her face fell for a moment and it seemed like she would argue, although she must have thought better of it, "Okay then, that'll be brilliant. I'll see you there then, at like nine? Eight thirty? Whatever is good for you. I'll be in my room. Albion's not far off now, is it?!" with that she ran away, in such a swift movement Deprivation thought he would collapse. How could she move so quickly when there was so much muscle? But he was suddenly thinking on her beauty, and how she was still so elegant despite that brutish strength, her sinewy body somehow effeminate...

_Reaver is the most beautiful on this ship._


	72. Dinner with Friends

The table was immaculately set, with its owners waiting patiently around it. China plates were polished to perfection whilst the Spire-Guards, donned in their finest red garments, sat back in rigid red chairs and spoke in hushed tones. Deprivation was set to arrive soon. It would be a blessing to have him for dinner, especially as they had not spoken with him for a while, and had seen him only in passing. What would happen if they did not have their leader? If he fell instead to insanity's call, ignoring the duties he was born to?

"Good evening, my brothers," their heads turned, eighteen eyes directed at the newcomer. It was Deprivation, in his beautiful red tunic and sporting white gloves, even though he was simply having dinner with his men. This was not a routine meal, however – instead it was an attempt, an idea that they needed to get on top of things, rather than allow grief to take their lives. They needed to fix themselves.

"Deprivation!" Solace's call was more joyful than expected, granted that the candle-light dinner was all his idea, and the fruits of his labour certainly showed, "I trust our meal will be satisfactory, as few supplies remain in our pantries."

"That is not my reasoning for attending, brother," the laugh was, in all senses, a relief, considering it had been many days since they heard one, at least from his lips, "On this night, I plan to become reacquainted. It has been far too long. What have you prepared?"

"Meals of sparrows and goldfinches! Absolution has personally killed our food, with the aid of Fury, whereas the unique flavours are works of my own mastery. Such spices we acquired in Aurora have, in no uncertain terms, become a blessing for my culinary interests."

The dinner commenced in a strange fashion; instead of their usual, sombre discussions, the air was filled by laughter, and saturated with the air of relief. On the corner of their table sat one set place, a single china set that had not been filled, which was only there for the passed Desolation. It would not be right to exclude him from the meal, not when he had been a part of their team. Such heinous acts were the lesser man's game.

Finally, Deprivation set his rusted cutlery down. His men had tried their best to polish them, so that they sparkled rather than stained, though the leader did not care. A want had been filled that night – a want that he should relax, be in the company of his brothers – and he saw no reason to fret over small details. What would that achieve? He cared little for the art of nitpicking, a poorly executed talent that many possessed; however, Solace was more fretful than his brother. No one had achieved immaculacy, except Deprivation, and a meal in his honour should have displayed that excellence. That was the Spire-Guard's belief.

"Have I satisfied your hunger, my brother?" he asked whilst clearing his own goldfinch, which had been a tricky bird to capture, "There is a 'dessert' as well, albeit less fulfilling than dinner. Reaver gave me the recipe and I have prepared it, to the best of my abilities, so that we can try an authentic Albion dish. He warns that it might be...sweet to our tongues."

Deprivation's head rose when he heard Reaver's name, granted he chose not to dabble in his thoughts. This was a night for his family and not his beloved, no matter how close the two had become. He refused to become a man driven by need; loyalty was still crucial, and his loyalty belonged to the men.

"Hm? What is this dish, my brother?"

"It is named 'chocolate cake,' I believe, for what reason I do not know," Solace's face became creased with suspicion, as if he did not trust a recipe from the thief, "A dish that feels like sea sponges, and is coated with a strange cloak of darkness. Perhaps it has been poisoned? I would not-"

His mouth instantly shut whilst his gaze rose, glittering with immense sorrow. Solace did not care for Reaver – he did not believe him to be trustworthy – but he had vowed long ago that he would, in no uncertain circumstances, support his brother, and attempt to accept his decision. The Spire-Guard was baffled by what attracted them, although he chose not to think on it too much. It would only cause more questions.

"If there exists no poison in the writing, then there surely exists no poison in the food," Deprivation tried to cover his irritation and, if it were not Solace he spoke to, he might have been able to, "On another note, set it aside for now. We must discuss other things before we eat again, so that our meal is not peppered by unnecessary sadness."

"Do we speak of Desolation?" Anxiety's voice was layered with grief, since he was the closest to their baby brother. They had been the final training Spire-Guards; it would be a lie to say no special bond was formed.

Deprivation thought carefully before replying, "Yes. We do."

"His burial shall be a sombre affair. Have you decided on the ritual, brother? Or are we permitted to vote on it, such as in the history books of old?"

"We may all speak our minds. I believe that our brother would have wanted it, and we have never commenced with such rituals in person."

Enjoyment's voice, higher than his other friends, immediately spoke up, "But what of our families? You surely went through the rites of our forefathers?"

Deprivation turned to his brother...and thought of a past life. He remembered his mother's soft voice and her even softer features, there to guide him through the darkness when he was confused, whilst remaining a firm structure in his mind. Her beauty was to be written on the Spire's walls, her youthfulness stuff of legends, although he could barely remember those details. To reminisce her final journey...

"Perhaps we should not speak of that; there is no need to compare these two events. We shall decide upon his burial tonight. Afterwards, I would need to eat quickly, so that I might meet with Hannah and have a drink with her."

Solace's eyebrows rose, "Miss Hammer wishes to drink with you? For what reason, my brother?"

"I do not know," he brought the glass of water to his face, a twinkle in his emerald eye, "I hope it is not for my hand. I belong to Reaver – she must accept this."


	73. Hammer's Plan

Hammer sat in her own room, a quietness cloaked around her person. She was waiting for the leader, the handsome stranger that had once loved her, although the reason remained a mystery. His manner was one to be questioned; the monk had never fallen for someone so intrepid, who still sported a sophisticated air and a refined character. Deprivation was a puzzle...he was, for all intents and purposes, her counterpart, and yet she wanted nothing more than to have him.

"Stupid fool," her voice was a low growl as she pondered. Nothing had been more frustrating than his existence, especially since he kept so rigidly to his code around her, only breaking it in the presence of Reaver. Hearts belonged to that man already – why did he steal her beloved? There were many other suitors for one such as he! Sailors, whores, prostitutes, mercenaries and bandits; they festered in the corners of this world, their morals as loose as a rich man's wallet, but still the thief commandeered Deprivation? It was sickening to see a relationship, to imagine a bond so unbreakable between them, when it was Hammer who deserved his hand.

"May I interrupt your thoughts?" a deep voice echoed in her room, which was bare aside from a bed and table set, "My apologies for lateness, dear Hannah. Conversations with Reaver were much longer than first anticipated."

Hammer looked up, her breath instantly stolen. The leader stood quite sturdily by her door, equipped with a figure-hugging red garment and his eyes sparkling that envious emerald, whilst his tanned features were set in a respectable smile. No ferociousness was displayed on his face at this point although she knew, deep within that sinewy body, lay a beast so violent in nature, who existed only Deprivation's fighting. It gave an idea of insanity, a chaos that was contained. She remembered how attractive his anger could be.

"No problem, mate," her own voice was stammering, a fumble of words that the leader smirked at, "What you drinking?"

"For my senses, I would be content with water."

"Really? No beer or anything?"

"My men and I will be expected to make an impression. Upon arrival at the Albion docks, we shall require all of our wits, and Reaver has since warned me of alcohol's influence. Such a strange concoction," the leader walked forward, inspecting the fizzing beverage that sat on the table, "I would have thought it to be a potion, had I not been informed otherwise."

"Well, I don't want to be drinking alone; a little one won't hurt, will it?" Hammer's plan depended on his indulgence – if he were to refuse a drink, then all would be lost. Deprivation looked down momentarily, his eyes dancing in confusion, until he finally nodded and took up the glass. His white gloved fingers clutched its clear walls.

"Perhaps a single glass could do no damage," his smile caused her heart to leap, and her eyes stared deeply into his own, "For what reason have you requested my presence, Hammer? Are you dissatisfied with our services?"

The monk was jolted back to life, "No reason really. Just thought that you'd like to relax a bit, considering you've done nothing but work. Does anyone ever give you a break?"

Deprivation took a sip of the beverage before he replied; however, the action was carefully planned. The leader did not want to drink that night, had no wish to risk his flawless depiction, instead choosing to feign his indulgence. It trickled along his tanned cheek and, like an opportunist, he poured it into a small flower pot, which was home to one unfortunate plant.

"We do not have many breaks," his admission was peppered by sadness, since he cared little for confessing things, "Our bodies have been accustomed to hard work, with lengthy hours and ever-challenging obstacles. To partake in laziness...that is a sin in our Spire, we believe, as a Spire-Guard must be vigilant, even in rest."

His counterpart turned to face the jug, which had been generously filled with her alcoholic obsession, "You don't get much sleep then?" she seemed to be confrontational. Deprivation thought carefully on his reply.

"We require it less so than others," another fake sip was taken, more like a gulp, draining half of his glass and feeding the plant some more, "A man must sleep to keep himself alive, and a Spire-Guard must sleep when his duties are completed. That is the way of the Spire."

Hammer's smile was wide when she saw Deprivation's glass, almost empty in his hand. She knew that, soon enough, he would become impaired, and his better judgement would suffer for it. Reaver knew how to play unfairly; the monk would regain her position, whether or not it was honourable. She would never allow the thief to have her beloved, not without a fight.

"Do you even have beds?"

"We possess small alcoves in the Spire's walls. They are comfortable, donned with small trinkets and a few odd pieces we have collected over our years – such things as mattresses and pillows are unnecessary to us."

"You can't be serious? There's nothing soft on the floor?"

"When we were but babes, our mothers would line the alcoves with downy feathers. These came from the birds around us, those that are unfortunate enough to fly closely, and were caught by our fathers arrows. It is a harsh life in the Spire; after our first moon within its walls, we are expected to go through endurance trials, so that we might grow and withstand the greatest pains."

Hammer noticed a slight tremble in his step, which was feigned by the leader in the hopes he could leave, "You're beaten up as _babies?!"_

"Not beaten, Hannah; we are taught the greatness that we can become, schooled in our own potential," his smile was tainted by discomfort, "You would understand, if not for your birth to a monk life."

Suddenly, Hammer moved forward, her eyes glimmering with intent. The large bodied female approached Deprivation at such a rate, with such rapid movement that he became disorientated, and hardly felt her heavy hand on his shoulder. It took a moment to register her face against his, close enough so he could feel her warm breath on his nose. His eyes narrowed in confrontation; hers, in some sort of euphoria.

"Ma'am-!"

"Don't worry; I know you liked me more than Reaver," her voice was now a low whisper, as if strength failed her when she was near him, "There's no way you could like him...not now, since we're so right for each other." Her lips, puckered and coated with glistening lipstick, moved towards his own thin ribbons, although the action was deflected.

"Hannah – you forget my love for Reaver!" Deprivation brushed her away from him, so that there was some distance between their persons, "How can I ever love another, when he has stolen my heart?"

"You don't love him! He's not right for you; he's just a stupid, pompous little arse, some bastard that lives in a fancy mansion! You don't even know where he comes from!"

"There is no logic to the heart's affairs, and none so captivates me as he does! Desperation has no attractive purposes!" he turned, fleeing from the room as quickly as he had arrived, with only one shout to the disheartened Hammer.

"I shall never love another!"


	74. One Last Wish

The cold Albion air seeped around their boat. Deprivation stood on the mast, his eyes searching Bloodstone's docks, which were alive with the bustle of whores and dishonourable men. This place seemed dark – never before had he gazed on such people, such wastes of oxygen, with a wish to remain in their world. Reaver made his home in these lands, no matter how disdainful they were, and he wanted to be in the man's presence. Eternity was a harsh mistress...

"We are nearing our destination," the leader said to Solace, who stood silently to his right, "Do any duties exist that we have not yet handled? These few minutes are our final opportunity." His friend, although silent in his reply, had answered that they were entirely completed, which meant their quest was finally at an end. The mountain-like responsibility was over, their adventure finished, and they remained in this world for only a few hours more. Deprivation would never accept the Spire, not in the way they were required.

Solace turned to face the sky, gazing at the thick cotton-like clouds, "We must be swift in our farewells; surely, to lose a soul so important, you must be heartbroken."

"Of course, but this does not matter. I am your brother, your leader and the Spire's protector; those factors are far more important than my heart, and what it requires to survive," a slip of the tongue, perhaps, that Deprivation admitted his weakness, granted that it was in no finer company. Solace knew his brother's sadness. It was no surprise that he felt bitter towards their predicament.

They continued watching for a moment, admiring the way that the water seeped past them, lapping at their grand boat's hull and leaving their wet licks, whilst the sky threatened to open. Cotton became dampened with soot, a blackened ideal birthed in purity, however barely noticed as they gazed at the docks. A few of Reaver's fans awaited on the wooden platforms – screaming girls, lusting ladies and a multitude of men, who were all after the thief's love. Little did they know it was commandeered, possessed already by an unknown suitor. It was a sad day in delusion's world.

"Are we there?" the immortal's voice ran clearly through the ship, which had long since silenced from the common work, "I've not seen my home in almost eight months! Is it still the wonderment I remember? Let's face it; even compared to Fairfax, my house is a masterpiece!" the Spire-Leader turned, a smile dancing on his tanned features as he watched Reaver arrive, in his finest garments and with a wonderful new hairstyle. Deprivation cared little for these changes – he loved the thief, and not the casing he came in. That was a bonus, though...

"We approach Bloodstone, my love. Soon enough you shall be on its shore, breathing the smells of your land, amongst the people you have known," the leader muttered whilst their hands intertwined, "I hope we have not caused too much disturbance."

"Not at all, my dear man," the youthful details were highlighted when he smiled, the unnatural smoothness of his skin stretched, although Deprivation thought nothing could be more beautiful. Who dared to interrupt their love, with unnecessary confessions and foolish beliefs? Hammer would never break their bond. Her brutish charm, rugged muscles and large size had become boring, a normal occurrence that no longer interested him, and she seemed to not accept that.

"Brother, may I speak with you?" he turned, his attention to stolen by Solace, "We have much to discuss before we reach the dock. I have spoken to our Lady; you are permitted to make my acquaintance, on the condition that we are brief."

The leader took a moment to stare at Reaver, before he moved to the side of the boat. They both gazed for a time, admiring the waves as they went about their nature, until finally he muttered, "Is there much discussion on my loyalty?" Solace was caught off-guard but answered quickly.

"You have not been questioned! What might make you believe such a thing?"

"Do not think that my eyes are blind, for they are directed at Reaver and our brothers. Anxiety doubts my loyalty to the Spire; understandable, but the death of Desolation was not for my own life. He should know this."

"Anxiety has been in mourning. None of his ideas are of the men, and instead they are sympathetic to his misguidance. We adore you, my brother – we fear that you shall leave us...we fear that the thief shall claim you, so that you might forget our existence, replaced by the wonderment of Albion."

Deprivation's face fell for a moment, as if he was saddened by the remark. It was true that he had thought of leaving, the idea that he could spend eternity with Reaver, but they were his brothers. He could never leave them. Not until his job was done, and the Spire-Guards of old took his soul at the tip of Solace's blade.

"You doubt my loyalty."

"No, brother-"

"Contradictions shall not save you, Solace. Do not treat me as a fool."

The man's face became freckled with upset, before he finally muttered a reply, "We doubt that you shall remain. We are fearful."

Silence fell. Their eyes connected for a moment, a fiery battle of emerald and sapphire, battling in a non-existent minefield and struggling against their will, until something gave. Deprivation turned from his brother to stare at the sea, where he would favour to live in this situation.

"I shall return to the Spire. My heart is Reaver's to own but my loyalty...my loyalty is our Spire's control," suddenly, he began to walk away, so that he left the younger Solace on his own, to ponder on his words, "It is a harsh way of life we live, one that we can never break away from. Perhaps, some day I shall return, if our Spire allows for it. Our Lady would grant that."

With that, he was gone. The leader Solace adored so much, the brother that had raised him from the ground up, was in turmoil, and there seemed nothing that would correct it. He wanted to fix these little mistakes they had made. He wanted to make things better.

Perhaps Theresa would allow for it...


	75. Love

Deprivation had been misguided in Albion's beauty; from this town, festering in the bile of lesser men, he could see its unspoken splendour. He could crane his neck from the balcony of Reaver's home, look past the manmade constructs that surrounded it, and see nature elsewhere. True it was thickened by agony and the smell was unbearable, but it still existed.

Wraithmarsh.

His beloved did not talk of it in too much detail – for a reason he did not know – however, Deprivation could not ignore its presence. There was anguish lurking within darkened corners, hidden from a light that could not penetrate, beckoning his more adventurous side to explore the dangers. If he were here on a simple pleasure-quest, the leader would be tempted.

"Deprivation!" the thief's voice was pinched by a guilt, an emotion that only he could detect and understand, "There's not much sense looking at something so abysmal, is there? Perhaps you shouldn't be so questioning of Wraithmarsh; it's a no man's land, in any case."

The leader, although curious of his lover's desperation, decided that it was best not to pry. He did not want to anger Reaver as he knew how deadly it could be, granted that the only weapon he had was love.

Books had detailed a heart's demise – not a particularly pleasant experience, and not one that Deprivation planned to go through.

"Of course, my love. I apologise," the man walked away from the balcony, even though he was not finished admiring. Soft candlelight danced through the arched door, a 'welcome home' from several of Reaver's fans, and Deprivation felt a strange twinge of envy as it graced the darkness. The thief was his to love, his to hold and his to appreciate; these people had no right to fawn over him, like lost puppies trotting after a rich man.

Bloodstone mansion was a masterpiece. Built with the finest of wood and crafted by the greatest of architects, it seemed to shine radiantly from the town's blandness. It was a beacon of light, a romantic touch from a fine author's pen, and certainly caught the leader's imaginative mind. If it were not for Reaver's double bed, coupled with his luxurious cabinets and beautiful royal red wallpaper, this room would have been a wonderful study, with mountains of hardback journeys littering the floor.

The thief smiled in forgiveness, "That's quite alright. What do you think of my home, then? It's the centrepiece of my coastal paradise!"

"Beautiful, Reaver, but compared to you it holds no splendour."

"Flattery is the best way to win a heart, you know!"

"Flattery, my love? No flattery," the leader moved forward, a hand softly caressing Reaver's cheek, his tanned skin against the pale surface, "Due credit, perhaps, but it is not flattery. A man such as you, with his own empire, must be praised regularly, else he may forget himself, and lose confidence in a potential I can see."

The thief was speechless, which was a strange occurrence for him. Usually he had a quip, a condescending speculation to accompany love, although it seemed he was too content. Deprivation needed no words to confirm his viewpoints; the man was, in every aspect, confident in himself, to such an extent that he required no second opinion.

He loved Reaver. That was enough.

A movement was made towards each other, and for a moment it seemed they would embrace. Thin ribbon lips brushed against each other, their eyes narrowed to lose themselves, although nothing this heavenly would remain untainted. Cruel circumstance – it never wandered too far from Deprivation.

"Brother!" Fury's voice echoed through the room, causing the pair to quickly look up, "Might I interrupt to hand a message? Our Lady requires you in her room, from the far left of this building. My apologies for the delay; Reaver's accommodation is, at best, difficult to find."

A glance was passed between the thief and the Spire-Guard, despite their acceptance of the relationship. Fury still felt some animosity towards him, sparks of anger that had not been quelled, granted that he would attempt to understand. This was his brother after all, and his happiness meant more than a hostile encounter.

"Very well, I shall make her acquaintance shortly. Thank you," he called after the man but, almost as though he were not there, he disappeared. Deprivation sighed before gracing Reaver's lips gently.

"I must go. My Lady can be a temperamental mistress."

"You shan't be hounded for five minutes."

"Perhaps, and perhaps not. Lateness is not a business I intend to involve myself with, especially on the honour of my heritage. You understand my predicament, Reaver?"

The thief sighed and released him, from a grip he did not know he held. Coldness danced where Deprivation's warmth had existed, an invading beast that only the Spire-Guard could battle.

"Hurry up then, man. I have warned you once before, haven't I?"

"I shall not keep you waiting my love; on that you have my word, and my heart," the leader smiled as he added that little note, as if it were a confirmation on his attitude. Reaver would be furious if he broke his promise – not an intention he had, but one that may fall out of his grasp – and he wanted nothing more than the thief to smile.

Deprivation wandered the long corridors in search of Theresa, with a hope that these confusing halls would not be a problem. The Spire had naught but winding pathways, little hidden entrances that led to alcoves, although he became confused at these differences. Upon passing yet another sturdy bookcase that became increasingly familiar, he finally turned into a darkened room.

There was a single fire crackling in the corner, on a fireplace so grand that it seemed implausible. Great bronze faces littered the mantelpiece with cold eyes, dead eyes that glared out into the shadows, where Deprivation made out a single hooded figure, arched over at the window's clear panes. Theresa!

"My Lady? Are you in pain?" his voice was touched by concern, "On your order I should seek a doctor, and with Reaver's influence force him to treat you? What ailment do you suffer?"

"None, little one," her own speech was caring, like she had waited for this moment her entire life and it had finally come to fruition, "You're far too concerned with my own health, as you know the Spire protects me. It is you that I want to discuss."

His movements were cautious, "For what reason, my Lady?"

"Your path has been chosen and, like your chains, it has bound you to the thief. These events were planned, although the outcomes were all very different."

"I am to return to the Spire – if my father had taken me, that would be the only difference I foresaw."

"That is true, but you see that it cannot quell that passion."

Deprivation's face became confused, his features dancing with untold sadness whilst she continued.

"Chaos was a fine Spire-Leader, and he gave to it a fine successor. It saw that rebellious spirit in your heart, knew that it could not forever keep you contented in its foundations; for love's sake, it took your sanity and nurtured it during those times, gave you the strength you needed to face Chaos."

He opened his mouth to speak, but she continued on, "You understand better than most, that the Spire loves the Spire-Guards?"

"Yes, my Lady."

"Then it shan't keep you from Reaver. You may return once your duties have been completed there, and the darkness has passed, but that is for you and it to discuss – I can no longer help you."

He stared in disbelief. Deprivation had not expected anything like this, not something so wondrous and terrifying, and he pondered for a moment if she was lying. How could he ever leave the Spire? It was his home, his place of rest, all that he had known since he was a mewling babe – it loved him and he loved it, despite the isolation he had suffered. Surely nothing would part them, not even his adoration for Reaver...?

"Theresa..."


	76. Departure

Weak sunlight flooded the docks as the men prepared, packing necessary essentials for their return and awaiting Deprivation's orders. A few days had passed since his discussion with Theresa, since his acceptance of fate, and he felt that this moment had come far too quickly. On that day, surrounded by his brothers, the leader would leave his beloved, to return to a life of hard labour and protection, where he had not a hope of love. It was a sad time for all whilst he worked in silence.

Reaver had noticed that he was upset, although his own sorrow caused him not to console the man. If it were not for his dedication to that Spire, they would not part; it was Deprivation's blind belief that he belonged there, that his existence was forever tied to that monument of will, which had served to keep them apart. The thief saw him as not only a man now, but a leader, one who honoured his debts without a complaint, despite the injustice. He was admirable.

He was foolish. Reaver knew that he was misguided – it did not take a spy to see his childish dedication – however he kept silent, for fear that the man would never love him again. One life had already been lost to the powers of heartache, and he did not want his new persona to be crippled by such circumstances. Deprivation was his new hope, one that would not fall victim to the ravages of age but, instead, to the cruel hands of fate.

"I'm sorry for your loss," Garth said over breakfast that morning, even though he had shown much disdain to the thief. His warm smile showed something, perhaps pity, and Reaver found himself smiling back without thought. Mages and immortals often went hand-in-hand and it seemed that, regardless of their many differences, the pair had finally learnt to befriend each other. Neither was a threat anymore.

His reply almost fell out of his mouth, "There shan't be any need for worry; as you know, I'm a resilient sort."

The thief regretted that reply now, as he stood on the rickety wooden floorboards and gazed forth, watching his beloved work in silence. He wanted some sort of consoling, something that would make this seem easy, and there seemed to be nothing that would do the trick. Deprivation caught his eyes once – Reaver was shocked to see pain there, a hard ache that ravaged his glittering gaze, although he turned before a fuss could be made. He was not a man who needed reassurance.

"You have the gift?" the leader asked Solace quietly, who had been hard at work further down the docks. No one saw their curt nod towards each other and, if they had, they could not have expected the reason. It was not like them to keep secrets from the others.

Then again, it was not like them to care for one they did not know.

"We set sail soon enough, my brother. Perhaps it would be best to give it now?" his voice was soft to Deprivation as he knew his pain, even if it had not been spoken, "Our Lady would honour your sacrifice, allow you these few minutes. Please, before I am destined to weep, for your eyes are alive with pain, and my heart cannot take such sorrow."

They smiled at each other for a moment, a brief second that seemed to last for eternity, before Deprivation finally turned and bounded up the docks. Reaver saw this sudden movement and thought to move away, like he could show his disgust for the departure; however he found himself rooted to the spot, a love bursting in his heart as he watched the leader run.

"Reaver! My love," a kiss was given, brief as it may have been, "I apologise for my absence this morning. My skills were needed here."

"Absence? I hardly noticed you were gone," the thief lied, "Shouldn't you be helping your men? A brave, honoured leader like yourself isn't liable to gallivant off, doing Avo-knows what elsewhere."

It would be a lie to say Deprivation expected it, but he was quick to reply, "You are correct – my men require my assistance, although a few minutes is not a sin. I have a gift for you." The word 'gift' always caught Reaver's attention and his eyes sparkled, in a way that the leader had not seen before. Curiousity was in those depths, sadness too, and Deprivation wanted to assure him it would all be fine. He wanted to turn with the thief and walk away, hide in the mansion until his men had left; however he was their leader, and his love made him stay.

"You have noticed my leaving our chambers," he began explaining whilst he fumbled in a sack, searching for the gift he spoke so mysteriously of, "I have found a suitable environment at the blacksmith's, which is just across from these beautiful waters. With the bribery of a few gold coins, he allowed my work, and I crafted something for you to keep – I believe it to be your tastes?"

It was then that Deprivation found the gift. Its silver barrel shone in the decreasing sunlight, blinding unsuspecting gulls and confusing the very gods, as rain started pouring from suddenly black-swathed sky. The butt of this new weapon was glowing with blue power, like it had been augmented in pre-determined care, whilst there sat an inscription on the very end of it. Reaver dared not read it, for he could already feel the unseemly tears prick his eyes.

"Such craftsmanship is usually imported," he mentioned as he took the gun, which fit snugly in his hand and could slip up his sleeve, "How did you acquire skills like this in a few mere days?"

"I have my muse," the answer was generically romantic, "It is equipped for faster handling; I have also added an augmentation so that, with every creature you kill, money shall be earned. Many men slave away for days on end although you, my dearest love, my Reaver, do not need to sully your hands with such labours."

The leader cupped Reaver's hands with his own and, for a moment, the world seemed to stop. Sailors that had been admiring the scene turned, their necks red with embarrassment, and the Spire-Guards waited patiently for their leader's return, since they knew what a hardship this was. If his love was shown in a gun, they did not care; it was Deprivation, and they were his men.

"I love you."

Deprivation smiled softly, "You do realise that this is your first admission?" they kissed again, longer this time, gently, although he soon parted words that would make him smile.

"When the darkness passes, my love, I shall return. Be that in days, weeks, years or decades, my heart shall forever belong to you. Farewell, my Reaver."

With that the leader turned, bounding down the docks towards his men and leaving his beloved alone. Garth appeared at the thief's side but, for Reaver, he was no consoling presence. Deprivation glanced back once before they boarded the grand ship, one that the immortal had bought personally for their journey home. The rain continued to pour unto them – he barely noticed as the mage held an umbrella over his head, in some way to keep him shielded from nature's elements.

"It's a terrible day for rain," the thief muttered whilst the ship began to sail forward, never taking his gaze off the beautiful masterpiece. It was not for that he was proud, not for that he was sorry and not for that he was heartbroken; Deprivation stood at the back, his own eyes locked onto Reaver, and the water falling off of his features like a river off a gorge. Solace stood beside his brother, as if in memorial for his heart.

"And there lies my love," he muttered to the Spire-Guard, "Such a day is abysmal enough without rain."

The pair could do nothing as the boat sailed forward. They watched whilst Albion started to fade away, became one with the horizon and finally disappeared, although this did not quell his heart. Deprivation stood there even when their home drew nearer since, for him, he no longer belonged to the Spire. Reaver...his Reaver – that was his master now, not this large structure of isolation.

The immortal remained on the docks after they were out of sight, with Garth still at his side. He understood the pain Reaver went through now – many men would turn him away, but not the mage – and he waited patiently for some sort of movement. Heartbreak had immobilised him, it seemed.

"_When the darkness passes, my love, I shall return..."_


End file.
